Copyright © 2015 by Melissa de la Cruz

Cover design by Marci Senders

Cover art by James Madsen
Hand lettering by Russ Gray
All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book
Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the
publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New
York, New York 10023.
ISBN 978-1-4847-1295-5
Visit DisneyBooks.com and DisneyDescendants.com
 Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Part 1
Prologue
Ten Terrible Years Later
Part 2
Chapter 1: This Is the Story of a Wicked Fairy….
Chapter 2: A Wily Thief…
Chapter 3: A Beautiful Princess…
Chapter 4: A Smart Little Boy…
Chapter 5: And a Handsome Prince Who Lived Far,
Far Away
Chapter 6: Mean Girl
Chapter 7: Hell Raiser
Chapter 8: Only Human
Chapter 9: Let the Fur Fly
Chapter 10: Council of Sidekicks
Chapter 11: Evil Lives?
Part 3
Chapter 12: Score One for the Team
Chapter 13: After Shocks
Chapter 14: Evil Enrichments
Chapter 15: Thick as Thieves
Chapter 16: Lifelong Frenemies
Chapter 17: Do You Believe in Magic?
Chapter 18: Once Upon a Dream
Chapter 19: One Hundred and One Ways to Find a
Map
 Chapter 20: Goblin Wharf
Chapter 21: Tale as Old as Time
Chapter 22: Gargoyle Bridge
Chapter 23: The Wonder of It All
Chapter 24: Funhouse Mirror
Chapter 25: Dragon’s Curse
Chapter 26: The Girl with the Double Dragon Tattoo
Chapter 27: The Descendants
Part 4
Epilogue: Sunrise Over Auradon
Acknowledgments
About the Author
 For Mattie,
without whom this book would not be possible
And for the two baddest ladies in the biz,
Emily Meehan and
Jeanne Mosure,
who offered me a chance to work on an island full of villains
and believed in me—thank you, ladies, for everything
 “I really felt
quite distressed
at not receiving
an invitation.”
—Maleficent,
Sleeping Beauty
Once upon a time, during a time after all the happily-ever-
afters, and perhaps even after the ever-afters after that, all the
evil villains of the world were banished from the United
Kingdom of Auradon and imprisoned on the Isle of the Lost.
There, underneath a protective dome that kept all manner of
enchantment out of their clutches, the terrible, the treacherous,
the truly awful, and the severely sinister were cursed to live
without the power of magic.
King Beast declared the villains exiled forever.
Forever, as it turns out, is quite a long time. Longer than an
enchanted princess can sleep. Longer, even, than an
imprisoned maiden’s tower of golden hair. Longer than a week
of being turned into a frog, and certainly much longer than
waiting for a prince to finally get around to placing that glass
slipper on your foot already.
Yes, forever is a long, long, long time.
Ten years, to be specific. Ten years that these legendary
villains have been trapped on a floating prison of rock and
rubble.
Okay, so you might say ten years isn’t such a long time,
considering; but for these conjurers and witches, viziers and
sorcerers, evil queens and dark fairies, to live without magic
was a sentence worse than death.
(And some of them were brought back from death, only to
be placed on this island—so, um, they should know.)
Without their awesome powers to dominate and hypnotize,
terrorize and threaten, create thunderclouds and lightning
storms, transform and disguise their features or lie and
manipulate their way into getting exactly what they wanted,
they were reduced to hardscrabble lives, eking a living selling
and eating slop, scaring no one but their own minions, and
stealing from each other. It was hard even for them to imagine
they once had been great and powerful, these poisoners of
forest apples and thieves of undersea voices, these usurpers of
royal powers and owners of petulant mirrors.
Now their lives were anything but powerful. Now they
were ordinary. Everyday.
Dare it be said? Dull.
So it was with great excitement and no small fanfare that
the island gathered for a one-of-a-kind event: a six-year-old
princess’s wickedly wonderful birthday party. Wicked being
something of a relative term under a dome that houses a bunch
of powerless former villains.
In any event, a party it was.
It was the most magnificent celebration the isolated island
and its banished citizens had ever seen, and tales of its gothic
grandeur and obnoxious opulence would be told for years to
come. The party to end all parties, this lavish occasion
transformed the ramshackle bazaar and its rotting storefronts
in the middle of the island into a spookily spectacular
playground, full of ghostly lanterns and flickering candles.
Weeks before, a flock of vultures had circled the land,
dropping invitations on every shabby doorstep and hovel so
that every grubby little urchin from every corner of the island
would be able to partake in this enchanting and extraordinary
event.
 Every little urchin on the island, that is, except for one
malicious little fairy.
Whether her invitation was lost to the winds and torn to
tatters or devoured by the hungry buzzards themselves—or—
gasp!—never even addressed in that looping royal scrawl, as
was suspected, we will never know.
But the result was the same.
Above the tumultuous bazaar, up high on her castle
balcony, six-year-old Mal pulled on the locks of her thick,
purple hair and pursed her lips as she observed the dark and
delicious festivities below. What she could make of them, at
least.
There she saw the tiny princess, the fairest of the (is) land,
sitting on her rickety throne, her hair as blue as the ocean, eyes
as dark as night, and lips as pink as roses. Her hair was pulled
back from her face in a pretty V-braid, and she laughed in
delight at the array of marvels before her. The princess
possessed a darling giggle that was so entrancing, it brought a
smile to haughty Lady Tremaine’s face, she of the thwarted
plans to marry her daughters to Prince Charming; the ferocious
tiger Shere Khan was practically purring like a contented kitty;
and for old times’ sake, Captain Hook bravely stuck his head
between Tick-Tock’s open jaws, if only so he could make her
laugh and hear that lovely peal again.
The princess, it would seem, could make even the most
horrible villains smile.
But Mal wasn’t smiling. She could practically smell the
two-story cake made of sour apples, sinfully red and
lusciously wormy; and try as she might, she couldn’t help but
overhear the screeches of the parrot Iago as he repeated, over
and over again, the story of talking caves that held riches
beyond measure, until the assembled villagers wanted to wring
his feathered neck.
Mal sighed with green-eyed jealousy as the children
gleefully tore into their baddie bags. The crumpled containers
held a variety of evil sidekicks to choose from—pet baby
moray eels akin to the slinky Flotsam and Jetsam swimming in
tiny bowls; little spotted, cackling hyenas who were no quieter
than the infamous Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed; pouncing and
adorable black kittens from Lucifer’s latest litter. Their badly
behaved recipients screamed with excitement.
As the party escalated in feverish merriment, Mal’s heart
grew as black as her mood, and she swore that one day, she
would show them all what it meant to be truly evil. She would
grow up to be greedier than Mother Gothel, more selfish even
than Cinderella’s stepsisters, more cunning than Jafar, more
deceptive than Ursula.
She would show them all that she was just like her—
“Mother!” she yelped, as the shadow of two looming and
ominous horns made their way toward the balcony, and her
mother appeared, her purple cape fluttering softly in the wind.
Her mother’s voice was rich, melodious, and tinged with
menace. “What is going on here?” she demanded as the
children below tittered at the sight of a highly inappropriate
shadow-puppet show mounted by the frightening Dr. Facilier.
“It’s a birthday party,” sniffed Mal. “And I wasn’t invited.”
“Is that right?” her mother asked. She peered at the
celebration over Mal’s shoulder, and they both took in the
sight of the blue-haired princess giggling on a moth-eaten
velvet pillow as Gaston’s hairy and handsome young twin
sons, Gaston Jr. and Gaston the Third, performed feats of
strength—largely balancing their enormous booted feet on
each other’s squashed faces—to impress her. From the sound
of things, it was working.
“Celebrations are for the rabble,” her mother scoffed. Mal
knew her mother despised parties of any kind. She despised
them almost as much as she did kings and queens who doted
on their precious babies, chubby little fairies with a knack for
dress design, and obnoxious princes on even more obnoxious
valiant steeds.
“Nevertheless, Evil Queen and her horrid progeny will
learn soon enough from their spiteful little mistake!” her
mother declared.
 For her mother was the great Maleficent, Mistress of
Darkness, the most powerful and wicked fairy in the world and
the most fearsome villain in all the land.
Or at least, she had been.
Once upon a time, her mother’s wrath had cursed a
princess.
Once upon a time, her mother’s wrath had brought a prince
to his knees.
Once upon a time, her mother’s wrath had put an entire
kingdom to sleep.
Once upon a time, her mother had had all the forces of hell
at her command.
And there was nothing Mal desired more in her heart than
to grow up to be just like her.
Maleficent stepped to the balcony’s edge, where she could
see out to the whole island all the way to the sparkling lights
of Auradon. She raised herself to her full height as thunder and
lightning cracked and boomed and rain began to pour from the
heavens. Since there was no magic on the island, this was just
wickedly good coincidence.
The party came to a halt, and the gathered citizens were
paralyzed at the sight of their leader glaring down at them with
the full force of her wrath.
“This celebration is over!” Mal’s mother declared. “Now,
shoo, flee, and scatter, like the little fleas you are! And you!
Evil Queen and your daughter! From now on, you are dead to
the entire island! You do not exist! You are nothing! Never
show your faces anywhere ever again! Or else!”
Just as quickly as it had gathered, the group dispersed,
under the wary eye of Maleficent’s frightening henchmen, the
boar-like guards wearing aviator caps pulled down low over
their hooded eyes. Mal caught a last glimpse of the blue-haired
princess looking fearfully up at the balcony before being
whisked away by her equally terrified mother.
 Mal’s eyes glittered with triumph, her dark heart glad that
her misery had caused such wondrous maleficence.
 “Magic Mirror
on the Wall,
who is the fairest
of them all?”
—Evil Queen,
Snow White
It has to be a dream, Mal told herself. This couldn’t be real.
She was sitting by the edge of a beautiful lake, on the stone
floor of an ancient temple ruin, eating the most luscious
strawberry. The forest all around her was lush and green, and
the sound of the water rushing at her feet was soothing and
peaceful. Even the very air all around her was sweet and fresh.
“Where am I?” she asked aloud, reaching for a plump
grape from the gorgeous picnic set before her.
“Why, you’ve been in Auradon for days now, and this is
the Enchanted Lake,” answered the boy seated next to her.
She hadn’t noticed him until he spoke, but now that she
had noticed, she wished she hadn’t. The boy was the worst
part of all this—whatever this was—tall, with tousled honey-
brown hair, and painfully handsome with the kind of smile that
melted hearts and made all the girls swoon.
But Mal wasn’t like all the girls, and she was starting to
feel panicked, like she was trapped here somehow. In
Auradon, of all places. And that it might not be a dream—
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Are you some kind of
prince or something?” She looked askance at his fine blue shirt
embroidered with a small golden crest.
 “You know who I am,” the boy said. “I’m your friend.”
Mal was instantly relieved. “Then this is a dream,” she
said with a crafty smile. “Because I have no friends.”
His face fell, but before he could answer, a voice boomed
through the peaceful vista, darkening the skies and sending the
water raging over the rocks.
“FOOLS! IDIOTS! MORONS!” it thundered.
Mal awoke with a start.
Her mother was yelling at her subjects from the balcony
again. Maleficent ran the Isle of the Lost the way she did
everything—with fear and loathing, not to mention a healthy
supply of minions. Mal was used to the shouting, but it made
for a seriously rude awakening. Her heart was still pounding
from her nightmare as she kicked off the purple satin covers.
What on earth was she doing dreaming of Auradon?
What kind of dark magic had sent a handsome prince to
speak to her in her sleep?
Mal shook her head and shuddered, trying to blink away
the horrid vision of his dimpled smile, and was comforted by
the familiar sound of fearful villagers begging Maleficent to
take pity on them. She looked around her room, relieved to
find she was right where she should be, in her huge, squeaky,
wrought-iron bed with its gargoyles on each bedpost and
velvet canopy that sagged so low, it threatened to fall on top of
her. It was always gloomy in Mal’s room, just as it was always
gray and overcast on the island.
Her mother’s voice boomed from the balcony, and the
floor of her bedroom rattled, causing her violet-lacquered
chest of drawers to suddenly spring open, disgorging its purple
contents on the floor.
When Mal decided on a color scheme, she stuck to it, and
she had been drawn to the layers of gothic richness in the
purple continuum. It was the color of mystery and magic,
moody and dark, while not being as commonplace in popular
villainswear as black. Purple was the new black, as far as Mal
was concerned.
 She crossed the room past her grand, uneven armoire that
prominently displayed all of her freshly shoplifted baubles—
trinkets of cut glass and paste, shiny metallic scarves with
trailing strands, mismatched gloves and a variety of empty
perfume bottles. Pushing the heavy curtains aside, from her
window she could see the whole island in all its dreariness.
Home, freak home.
The Isle of the Lost was not a very large island; some
would say it was but a speck or a blight on the landscape,
certainly more brown than green, with a collection of tin-
roofed and haphazardly constructed shanties and tenements
built on top of one another and more or less threatening to
collapse at any moment.
Mal looked down at this eyesore of a slum from the tallest
building in town, a formerly grand palace with soaring tower
spires that was now the shabby, run-down, paint-chipped
location of the one and only Bargain Castle, where slightly
used enchanter’s robes were stocked in every color and
slightly lopsided witch’s hats were always 50 percent off.
It was also the home of some not-so-slightly bad fairies.
Mal changed out of her pajamas, pulling on an artfully
constructed purple biker jacket with a dash of pink on one arm
and green on the other, and a pair of torn jeans the color of
dried plums. She carefully put on her fingerless gloves and
laced up her battered combat boots. She avoided glancing at
the mirror, but if she had, she would have seen a small, pretty
girl with an evil glint in her piercing green eyes and a pale,
almost translucent complexion. People always remarked how
much she looked like her mother, usually just before they ran
screaming the other way. Mal relished their fear, even sought
it. She combed her lilac locks with the back of her hand and
picked up her sketchbook, stuffing it into her backpack along
with the spray-paint cans she always carried with her. This
town wasn’t going to graffiti itself, was it? In a perfectly
magical world it would, but that wasn’t what she was dealing
with.
 Since the kitchen cupboards were bare as usual, with
nothing in the fridge but glass jars full of eyeballs and all sorts
of moldy liquids of dubious provenance—all part of
Maleficent’s ongoing efforts to whip up potions and conjure
spells like she used to—Mal headed to the Slop Shop across
the street for her daily breakfast.
She studied the choices on the menu—black-like-your-soul
coffee; sour-milk latte; crusty barley oatmeal with a choice of
mealy apple or mushy banana; and stale, mixed cereal, dry or
wet. There were never many options. The food, or scraps,
more like it, came from Auradon—whatever wasn’t good
enough for those snobs got sent over to the island. Isle of the
Lost? More like Isle of the Leftovers. Nobody minded too
much, though. Cream and sugar, fresh bread, and perfect
pieces of fruit made people soft. Mal and the other banished
villains preferred to be brittle and hard, inside and out.
“What do you want?” a surly goblin asked, demanding her
order. In the past, the disgusting things had been foot soldiers
in her mother’s dark army, ruthlessly dispatched across the
land to find a hidden princess; but now their tasks were
reduced to serving up coffee as bitter as their hearts, in tall,
grande, and venti sizes. The only amusement they had left was
to ruthlessly misspell each customer’s name, written with
marker on the side of each cup. (The joke was on the goblins
since hardly anyone could read Goblin; but that never seemed
to make any difference.) They kept blaming their
imprisonment on the island on their allegiance to Maleficent,
and it was common knowledge that they kept petitioning King
Beast for amnesty, using their flimsy familial ties to the dwarfs
as proof they didn’t belong here.
“The usual, and make it snappy,” said Mal, drumming her
fingers on the counter.
“Room for month-old milk?”
“Do I look like I want curds? Give me the strongest,
blackest coffee you’ve got! What is this, Auradon?”
It was like he’d seen her dreams, and the thought made her
ill.
 The runty creature grunted, wiggling the boil on his nose,
and pushed a dark, murky cup toward her. She grabbed it and
ran out the door without paying.
“YOU LITTLE BRAT! I’LL BOIL YOU IN THE
COFFEEPOT NEXT TIME!” the goblin shrieked.
She cackled. “Not if you can’t catch me first!”
The goblins never learned. They had never found Princess
Aurora either, but then again, the dimwits had been looking for
a baby for eighteen years. No wonder Maleficent was always
frustrated. It was so hard to find good help these days.
Mal continued on her way, stopping to smirk at the poster
of King Beast admonishing the citizens of the island to BE
GOOD! BECAUSE IT’S GOOD FOR YOU! with that silly yellow
crown on his head and that big grin on his face. It was
positively nauseating and more than a little haunting, at least
to Mal. Maybe the Auradon propaganda was getting to her
head, maybe that’s why she had dreamt she was frolicking in
some sort of enchanted lake last night with some pretentious
prince. The thought made her shudder again. She took a gulp
of her scalding, strong coffee. It tasted like mud. Perfect.
In any event, she had to do something about this blister on
the wall. Mal took out her paint cans and sprayed a mustache
and goatee on the king’s face and crossed out his ridiculous
message. King Beast was the one who had locked them all up
on the island, after all. That hypocrite. She had a few messages
of her own for him, and they all involved revenge.
This was the Isle of the Lost. Evil lived, breathed, and
ruled the island, and King Beast and his sickly sweet
billboards cajoling the former villains of the world to do good
had no place in it. Who wanted to make lemonade from
lemons, when you could make perfectly good lemon grenades?
Next to the poster she sprayed a thin, black outline of a
horned head and a spread cape. Above Maleficent’s outline,
she scrawled EVIL LIVES! in bright green paint the color of
goblin slime.
Not bad. Badder. And that was much better.
If Mal lived above a shop, Jay, son of Jafar, actually lived
inside one, sleeping on a worn carpet beneath a shelf straining
under ancient television sets with manual dials, radios that
never worked, and telephones that had actual cords attached to
them. His father had been the former grand vizier of Agrabah,
feared and respected by all, but that was a long time ago, and
the evil enchanter was now the proprietor of Jafar’s Junk
Shop, and Jay, his only son and heir, was also his sole supplier.
If Jay’s destiny had once been to become a great prince, only
his father remembered it these days.
“You should be on top of an elephant, leading a parade,
waving to your subjects,” Jafar mourned that morning as Jay
prepared for school, pulling a red beanie over his long, straight
dark hair and choosing his usual attire of purple-and-yellow
leather vest and dark jeans. He flexed his considerable muscles
as he pulled on his black studded gloves.
“Whatever you say, Dad!” Jay winked with a mischievous
smile. “I’ll try to steal an elephant if I come across any.”
Because Jay was a prince, all right. A prince of thieves, a
con man, and a schemer, whose lies were as beautiful as his
dark eyes. As he made his way through the narrow
cobblestone streets, dodging rickshaws manned by Professor
Ratigan’s daredevil crew, he took advantage of their frightened
passengers ducking under clotheslines weighed down by
tattered robes and dripping capes to filch a billfold or two.
Ursula chased him away from her fish and chips shop, but not
before he had managed to grab a handful of greasy fries, and
he took a moment to admire a collection of plastic jugs of
every size and shape offered by another storefront, wondering
if he could fit one in his pocket.
Every manner of Auradon trash was recycled and
repurposed on the island, from bathtubs to door handles, as
well as from the villains’ own formerly magical
accoutrements. A shop advertised USED BROOMS THAT DON’T
FLY ANYMORE BUT SWEEP OKAY, and crystal balls that were only
good as goldfish bowls these days.
As vendors laid out rotten fruit and spoiled vegetables
under tattered tents, Jay swiped a bruised apple and took a
bite, his pockets bulging with pilfered treasures. He waved a
cheerful hello to a chorus of hook-nosed witches gathered at a
slanted balcony—Madam Mim’s granddaughters, who, while
relieved to be out of his sticky fingers’ reach, swooned at his
greeting nonetheless.
Maleficent’s henchmen, large boar-like men in leather rags
with the familiar aviator-style caps pulled down over their
eyes, snuffled an almost unintelligible hello as they passed
him on their way to work. Jay deftly took their caps without
their noticing and shoved them down the rear of his trousers,
planning to sell them back to the guys the next day like he did
every week. But he resisted the urge to trip them up as well.
There just wasn’t time to do everything in one day.
Looking for something to wash down the sour taste of the
apple, Jay caught sight of a familiar face taking a sip from a
paper cup bearing the Slop Shop logo and grinned.
Perfect.
“What in Lucifer’s name?” Mal cried as the cup
disappeared from her fingers. She hesitated for a second
before realization hit. “Give it back, Jay,” she said, hands on
her hips, addressing the empty space on the sidewalk.
 He snickered. It was so much fun when Mal was mad.
“Make me.”
“Jay!” she snarled. “Make you what? Bruise? Bleed? Beg?
Thief’s choice, today.”
“Fine. Jeez,” he said as he slunk out from the shadows.
“Mmm, pressed hot mud, my favorite.” He handed her back
her cup, feeling wistful.
Mal took a sip and grimaced. “Actually, it’s disgusting,
you can have it. You look hungry.”
“Really?” He perked up. “Thanks, Mal. I was starving.”
“Don’t thank me, it’s particularly awful today. I think they
threw some raw toads into the brew this morning,” she said.
“Bonus! Extra protein.” Amphibians or not, Jay drained it
in one shot. He wiped his lips and smiled. “Thanks, you’re a
pal,” he said in all honesty, even though he and Mal weren’t
friends, exactly, although they were partners in crime.
Like his, Mal’s jeans and jacket pockets were stuffed with
all manner of junk, shoplifted from every storefront in town. A
knitting needle was sticking out of one pocket, while the other
contained what looked like a sword handle.
“Can I trade you a teapot for that old sword?” he asked
hopefully. Everything his father sold was stuff Jay had stolen
from somewhere else.
“Sure,” she said, taking a rusty kettle in exchange. “Look
what else I got,” she said. “Ursula’s necklace.” She rattled it in
the air. “I nabbed it this morning when the old sea witch
waved hello.”
“Sweet.” He nodded. “All I got was a handful of fries. Too
bad it can’t capture anything anymore, let alone a mermaid’s
voice.”
Mal huffed. “It’s still valuable.”
“If you say so.” He shrugged.
Jay and Mal were in a constant competition for who was
the more accomplished thief. A clear winner would be hard to
call. You could say they had bonded on their love of swiping
things, but they would tell you that bonds of any kind were for
the weak.
Even so, they fell into step on the walk to school. “Heard
the news?” he asked.
“What news? There’s no new news,” she scoffed, meaning
nothing new ever happened on the island. The island’s old-
fashioned fuzzy-screened televisions only broadcast two
channels—Auradon News Network, which was full of do-
gooder propaganda, and the DSC, the Dungeon Shopping
Channel, which specialized in hidden-lair décor. “And slow
down, or we’ll get there on time,” she added.
They turned off the main road, toward the uneven, broken-
down graveyard that was the front lawn of Dragon Hall. The
venerable school for the advancement of evil education was
located in a former mausoleum, a hulking gray structure with a
domed ceiling and a broken-down colonnade, its pediment
inscribed with the school’s motto: IN EVIL WE TRUST. Scattered
around its haunted grounds, instead of the usual tombstones,
were doomstones with horrible sayings carved into them. As
far as the leaders on this island were concerned, there was
never a wrong time to remind its citizens that evil ruled.
“No way, I heard news. Real news,” he insisted, his heavy
combat boots stomping through the root-ripped graveyard
terrain. “Check it out—there’s a new girl in class.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m totally serious,” he said, narrowly avoiding stumbling
over a doomstone inscribed with the phrase IT IS BETTER TO
HAVE NEVER LOVED AT ALL THAN TO BE LOVED.

“New girl? From where, exactly?” Mal asked, pointing to

the magical dome that covered the island and shrouded the
sky, obscuring the clouds. Nothing and no one came in or out,
so there wasn’t ever a whole lot of new.
“New to us. She’s been castle-schooled until now, so it’s
her first time in the dungeon,” said Jay as they approached the
wrought-iron gates, and the crowd gathered around the
entrance parted to let them through, many of their fellow
students clutching their backpacks a little more tightly at the
sight of the thieving duo.
“Really.” Mal stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean,
‘castle-schooled’?” she asked, her eyes narrowing
suspiciously.
“A real princess too, is what I’ve heard. Like, your basic
true-love’s-kiss-prick-your-finger-spin-your-gold-skip-the-
haircut-marry-the-prince-level princess.” He felt dizzy just
thinking about it. “Think I could lift a crown off her
somewhere? Even a half-crown…?” His father was always
talking about The Big Score, the one fat treasure that would
free them from the island somehow. Maybe the princess would
lead them to it.
“A princess?” Mal said sternly. “I don’t believe you.”
Jay wasn’t listening anymore. “I mean, think of the loot
she’d have on her! She’s got to have a ton of loot, right? Hope
she’s easy on the eyes! Better yet, on the pockets. I could use
an easy mark.”
Mal’s voice was suddenly acid. “You’re wrong. There
weren’t any princesses on the island, and certainly not any
who would dare to show their faces around here.…”
Jay stared at her, and in the back of his mind he heard
alarm bells and had a faint memory of an awesome birthday
party concerning a princess…and some sort of scandal that
involved Mal and her mother. He felt bad, remembering now
that Mal hadn’t received an invitation, but he quickly
suppressed the icky emotion, unsure of where it came from.
Villains were supposed to revel in other people’s sadness, not
empathize!
Besides, when it came down to it, Mal was like a sister, an
annoying, ever-present pest, and a pain in the…
Bells. Ringing and echoing through the island from the top
of the tower, where Claudine Frollo was tugging the rope and
being pulled up along with it as she rang in the official start of
the Dragon Hall school day.
 Jay and Mal shared a smirk. They were officially tardy.
The first thing that had gone right all morning.
They passed through the crumbling and moss-covered
archway and into the main tomb, which was buzzing with
activity—members of the Truant Council putting up signs for
a Week-Old Bake Sale; the earsplitting sounds of the junior
orchestra practicing for the Fall Concert, the sea witches
leaning over their violins.
Frightened students scrambled to get out of their way as
Mal and Jay walked past the dead ivy–covered great hall
toward the rusting double doors that led to the underground
class-tombs. A tiny first-year pirate who ran with Harriet
Hook’s crew got lost in the shuffle, blocking their path.
Mal came to a halt.
The boy slowly lifted his head, his eye patch trembling.
“S-s-so s-s-sorry, M-m-m-mal,” he said.
“M-m-m-MOVE IT,” Mal said, her voice high and
mocking. She rolled her eyes and kicked the torn textbooks out
of her way. The boy scampered toward the first open door he
saw, dropping his fake hooked hand in his haste and sending it
rolling away.
Jay kept his silence, knowing to tread lightly as he picked
up the hook and stuffed it inside his jacket. But he couldn’t
help asking, “Why not just throw a party of your own instead
of sulking about it?”
“What are you talking about?” said Mal. “As if I care.”
Jay didn’t reply; he was too busy hugging himself tightly
and wishing he’d thought to bring a warmer jacket instead of a
sleeveless vest as the temperature dropped the usual twenty
degrees as they ventured down the cold marble stairs to the
damp basement gloom of campus.
Mal had gone silent for a moment, and Jay assumed she
was still brooding on what happened ten years ago, when she
suddenly snapped her fingers and said, with a wicked gleam in
her eyes, “You’re absolutely right, Jay. You’re a genius!”
 “I am? I mean, yes, I am,” replied Jay. “Wait—what am I
right about?”
“Having a party of my own. There’s a lot to celebrate, after
all. You just said there was a new princess in our midst. So I’m
going to throw a party.”
Jay goggled at her. “You are? I mean, I was just kidding.
Everyone knows you hate…”
“Parties.” Mal nodded. “But not this one. You’ll see. It’s
going to be a real howler.” She grinned. “Especially for the
new kid.”
Jay smiled back weakly, wishing he had never mentioned
it. When Mal got like this, it usually had terrible
consequences. He shivered. There was a definite chill in the
air—a new wild wind was blowing, and he was smart enough
to worry about where it would lead.
In the Castle-Across-the-Way lived a lived a mother-and-
daughter duo very different from Maleficent and Mal. Unlike
the shabby Victorian confines of the Bargain Castle, this one
was full soot and dust, with broken chandeliers and
spiderwebs in the corners. It wasn’t so much a castle as a cave
—yet another prison within the prison of the island. And for
ten years, this mother and daughter had only each other for
company. Banishment to the far side of the island had made
Evil Queen a little odd, and Evie couldn’t help but notice how
her mother insisted on making declarations just like some
legendary “magic mirror.”
“Magic mirror in my hand, who is the fairest on this
island?” Evil Queen asked as Evie was getting ready that
morning.
“Mom, you’re not holding anything in your hand. And
anyway, is that really the first thing on your mind? Not
breakfast?” asked Evie, who was starving. She perused the
day’s offerings—hard croissants and watery coffee from the
basket the vultures left on their doorstep every day.
“Your daughter has grace but should take better care of
her face to be the fairest,” her mother declared in somber
tones that she called her “Magic Mirror” voice.
 Fairest, prettiest, most beautiful. The thickest hair, the
fullest lips, the smallest nose. It was all her mother cared
about. Evil Queen blamed all her troubles on not being more
beautiful than Snow White, and it seemed no matter how well
Evie did her hair or put on her makeup, she would never be
beautiful enough for her mother. It made Evie sick to her
beautiful stomach sometimes. Like mother, like daughter—or
so she’d always been told. The poison apple never fell far
from the tree.
And even if Evie suspected there might be more to life
than being beautiful, that wasn’t something she could ever say
to her mother. The woman had a one-track mind.
“You didn’t put on enough blush. How will you ever win a
handsome prince, looking like that?” her mother scolded,
pinching her cheeks.
“If only there was one around here,” said Evie, who
dutifully took out her compact and reapplied. There were no
princes to be found on the island, as all the princes lived in
Auradon now. That’s where all the world’s royalty lived—and
that’s where she should live too. But it was not to be. Like her
mother, she would be trapped on the Isle of the Lost forever.
Evie checked the hallway mirror one last time and adjusted
her blue cape around her shoulders, the back of it embroidered
with a crown in the middle. Her poison-heart necklace winked
red in between the soft blue folds. Her raggedy black skirt
with the splashes of red, white, and blue paint went well with
her forest-print-like black-and-white leggings.
“Your hair!” Evil Queen said with despair, tucking a loose
strand back into her daughter’s neat V-braid, which swept her
hair off her forehead. “Okay, now you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Mom,” said Evie, whose only goal was to
survive the day. “Are you sure it’s safe to go to school?”
“No one can keep a grudge for ten years! Also, we’re all
out of wrinkle cream! Pick up some from the bazaar—I don’t
trust the vultures to send the right one.”
Evie nodded and hoped her mother was right.
 But when she stepped out of their castle gates, she froze.
Maleficent’s curse echoed in her ears. But nothing happened,
and she kept going. Maybe, for once, the wicked old fairy had
forgotten about it.
When Evie arrived at school that morning, everyone stared
at her as she walked through the halls. She felt a bit self-
conscious, and wondered if she’d ever fit in. She was
supposed to check in with Dr. F, the headmaster, when she
arrived. But where were the administrative chambers? Evie
wondered, whirling around in a full circle.
“May I help you?” a handsome if somewhat hairy and very
large boy asked when he saw her.
“Oh—I’m looking for the headmaster—?”
“Follow me,” he said with a broad grin. “Gaston, at your
service…and this is my brother, Gaston.” He pointed to his
identical twin, who gave her the same beaming, arrogant
smile.
“Thank you, uh, Gastons.” Evie replied. The boys led her
down the hall to the administrative-tombs.
“Dr. F, you got a visitor,” Gaston said reaching for the door
handle.
“I want to open it,” his brother said, elbowing him away.
But the first Gaston punched him without even a backward
look. “After you, princess,” he offered grandly, as his brother
slithered to the floor, holding his jaw.
“Um, thanks, I think,” said Evie.
Dr. Facilier looked up and gave the three students a jack-
o’-lantern smile. “Yes? Oh, Evie, welcome to Dragon Hall. It’s
a delight to see you again, child. It’s been too long. Ten years,
is it? How is your lovely mother?”
“She’s well, thanks.” Evie nodded politely but hurried to
get to the point. “Dr. Facilier, I just wanted to see if I could
swap my Wickedness class for Advanced Vanities that meets
at the same time?” she asked.
 The shadowy man frowned. Evie batted her eyelashes. “It
would mean so much to me. By the way—” She pointed to his
bolo tie, with its unfortunate silver chain. “That is so cool!”
she said, thinking exactly the opposite.
“Oh, this? I picked it up in the Bayou d’Orleans right
before I was brought here.” He sighed, and his frown softened
into a real smile. “I suppose Vanities is a better fit for your
overall schedule. Consider it done.”
“Good, I’m in that class,” the Gastons chorused. “On
Tuesdays it’s right after lunch.”
“Lunch!” Evie slapped her forehead.
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot to bring mine!” In all the excitement and anxiety
about finally leaving the castle, she’d left her basket at home.
“Don’t worry,” the twins replied. “You can share ours!”
they added, holding up two huge baskets of food. A giant
block of some particularly smelly cheese poked out, along
with two loaves of brown bread speckled with mold and
several thick slices of liverwurst.
Evie was touched they had offered to share, even though
they looked like they could eat a horse and a half between
them, with or without the mold.
They led her down the winding hallway. The stone walls
were covered in the same pea-green moss as outside, and
seemed to be leaking some sort of brown liquid all over the
dusty cement floor. Evie felt something furry circling her
ankles and found a fat black cat with a smug grin looking up at
her.
“Hi, kitty,” she cooed, leaning down to pet it.
“That’s Lucifer,” said one of the Gastons. “Our mascot.”
Several yelps from first-year students could be heard from
inside the rusty lockers that haphazardly lined the corridor.
With only a few lightbulbs flickering overhead, Evie nearly
walked into a giant cobweb woven over a heavy steel door. A
spider the size of a witch’s cauldron sat in its center. Cool.
 “Where does that lead to?” she asked.
“Oh that? That’s the door to the Athenaeum of Evil,” the
other Gaston said.
“Come again?”
“The Library of Forbidden Secrets,” he explained.
“Nobody is allowed down there, and only Dr. F has the key.”
“What kind of secrets?” asked Evie, intrigued.
“Forbidden ones, I guess?” Gaston shrugged. “Who cares?
It’s a library. Sounds pretty boring to me.”
Finally, they arrived at the classroom’s arched wooden
door. Evie stepped inside and made her way to the nearest
open desk, smiling at those who came to gather curiously
around her. Everyone was looking at her with such awe and
admiration, she seemed to be making waves.
The desk she’d chosen had a remarkably large cauldron
and a great view of the professor’s lectern. She took a seat, and
there was a gasp in the crowd. Wow, these kids sure were easy
to please.
Evie was feeling pretty good about her first day until she
heard the sound of a throat clearing.
When she looked up, there was a pretty, purple-haired girl
standing in front of her cauldron, staring at her with
unmistakable venom. Her mother’s “mirror” would have had a
few choice words about this one, that’s for sure. Evie felt a
cold dread as the memory of a certain infamous party came
flooding back. Maybe if she played dumb and flattered her, the
girl wouldn’t remember what had happened ten years ago. It
was worth a shot.
“I’m Evie. What’s your name?” Evie asked innocently,
although she knew exactly who was standing in front of her.
“And by the way, that jacket is amazing. It looks great on you
—I love all the patchwork leathers on it.”
“Girl, that’s her cauldron. You should bounce,” a student
Evie would find out later was named Yzla whispered loudly.
“Oh, this is yours…?” Evie asked the purple-haired girl.
 The purple-haired girl nodded.
“I had no idea this was your desk, I’m so sorry! But it has
such a great view of the lectern,” Evie said with her
trademarked bright smile, so blinding, it should have come
with sunglasses. Evie finally realized why the students had
been staring at her. They had been watching a train wreck
about to happen.
“Yes, it does,” the purple-haired girl replied, her voice soft
and menacing. “And if you don’t move your blue-haired
caboose out of it, you’ll get some kind of view, all right.” She
snarled, brusquely brushing past Evie and noisily plonking her
backpack down into the middle of the cauldron.
Evie got the message, grabbed her things, and found an
empty cauldron in the back of the classroom, behind a column
where she couldn’t see the blackboard.
“Is that who I think it is?” she asked the small boy seated
next to her, whose hair was black at the roots but white at the
tips. Actually, everything he wore was black and white with a
splash of red: a fur-collared jacket with one black and one
white side and red leather sleeves, a black button-down shirt
with streaks of white, and long shorts with one white and one
black-and-white leg. It was a pretty cool look. For a bloody
skunk.
“If you mean Mal, you’re right, and I would stay out of her
way if I were you,” he said.
“Mal…” Evie breathed, her voice trembling nervously.
“Yeah. Her mom’s the Big Bad around here. You know—”
He made horn signs with his hands on either side of his head.
You didn’t need to have lived on the Isle for long to know
exactly whom he was talking about. Nobody dared speak her
name, not unless absolutely necessary.
Evie gulped. Her first day, and she’d already made the
worst enemy in school. It was Maleficent who had banished
Evie and her mother ten years ago and caused Evie to grow up
alone in a faraway castle. Her own mother might be called
Evil Queen, but everyone on the Isle of the Lost knew that
Maleficent wore the crown in these parts. From the looks of it,
her daughter did the same in the dungeons of Dragon Hall.
Magic Mirror on the wall, who’s the stupidest of them all?
Carlos De Vil looked up from the contraption he was
assembling and shot the new girl a shy smile. “It’ll be okay.
Mal just likes to be left alone,” he said. “She’s not as tough as
she seems. She only talks a big game.”
“She does? What about you?” the blue-haired princess
asked.
“I don’t have a game. Unless you consider getting beat up
and pushed around a game, which in a way I guess it is. But
really it’s not that entertaining, unless you happen to be the
one doing the beating and the pushing.”
Carlos turned his attention back to the mess of wires in
front of him. He was smaller and younger than the rest of the
class, but smarter than most of them. He was an AP student:
Advanced Penchant (for Evil). It was only right, since the
infamous Cruella was his mother. His mother was so
notorious, she had her own song. He hummed it under his
breath sometimes. (What—it was catchy!) Sometimes he
would do it just to send her into hysterics. Then again, that
wasn’t so difficult. Cruella’s witch doctors believed she was
sustained by pure metabolic fury. Privately, Carlos thought of
it as her Rage Diet: no carbs, just barbs—no hunger, just anger
—no ice cream, just high screams.
 His thoughts were interrupted by his friendly new
seatmate. “I’m Evie. What’s your name?” she asked.
“Hi, Evie, I’m Carlos De Vil,” he said. “We met once
before, at your birthday party.” He’d recognized her the
minute she walked in. She looked exactly the same, just taller.
“Oh. Sorry. I don’t remember much about the party. Except
how it ended.”
Carlos nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, I’m also your neighbor. I
live just down the street in Hell Hall.”
“You do?” Evie’s eyes went wide. “But I thought no one
lived there but that crazy old lady and her—”
“Don’t say it!” he blurted.
“Dog?” she said at the same time.
Carlos shuddered. “We—we don’t have dogs,” he said
weakly, feeling his forehead begin to perspire at the very
thought. His mother had told him dogs were vicious pack
animals, the most dangerous and terrifying animals on earth.
“But she’s always calling someone her pet. I thought you
were a d—”
“I told you, don’t say it!” warned Carlos. “That word is a
trigger for me.”
Evie put up her hands. “Okay, okay.” Then she winked.
“But how do you fit in the crate at night?”
Carlos only glared.
Their first class was Selfishness 101, or “Selfies” for short,
taught by Mother Gothel, who took way too many self-
portraits with an old Polaroid camera.
The photos were littered around the classroom: Mother
Gothel making a duck face, sleepy-eyed Mother Gothel in an
“I woke up like this” pic, Mother Gothel in “cobra” pose. But
Mother Gothel herself was nowhere to be found. She was
always at least a half hour late, and when she finally arrived,
she was irritated to find the students there before her. “Have I
taught you nothing about being fashionably, annoyingly late to
every engagement?” she asked, letting out an exasperated sigh
and collapsing dramatically into her chair, one hand fanned
over her eyes.
For the next half hour or so they studied Portraits of Evil,
comparing the likenesses of the most famous villains in
history, many of whom lived on the island and some of whom
were their parents. Today’s class just happened to feature
Cruella De Vil.
Of course.
Carlos knew the portrait by heart, whether or not he was
looking at it.
His mother. There she was in all her finery, with her tall
hair and her long red car, her eyes wild and her furs flying in
the wind.
He shuddered again and went back to tinkering with his
machine.
Class ended, and students began to file out of the
classroom. Evie asked Carlos what his next subject was, and
looked happy to discover they both had Lady Tremaine for
Evil Schemes. “That’s another advanced class—you must have
a really high EQ,” he told her. Only those who boasted off-the-
charts evil quotients were allowed to take it. “It’s this way,” he
said, motioning up the stairs.
But before they could get too far, a cold voice cut through
the chatter. “Why, if it isn’t Carlos De Vil,” it said behind
them.
Carlos would know that voice anywhere. It was the
second-most terrifying on the island. When he turned, Mal was
standing right behind him, next to Jay. Carlos automatically
checked his pockets to make sure nothing had disappeared.
“Hey, Mal,” he said, trying to appear nonchalant. Mal
never spoke to anyone except to scare them or to complain that
they were in her way. “What’s up?”
“Your mom’s away at the Spa this weekend, isn’t she?”
Mal asked, elbowing Jay, who snickered.
 Carlos nodded. The Spa—really just a bit of warmish
steam escaping from the crags of rock in the ruined basement
of what had once been a proper building—was Cruella’s one
bit of comfort, her one reminder of her luxurious past.
How far the De Vils had fallen, just like the rest of the Isle.
“Y-yes,” he said uncertainly, unsure if that was the correct
answer even though it was the truthful one.
“Right answer,” Mal said and patted him on the head. “I
can’t exactly give a party at my place without my mother
yelling at everyone, not to mention the whole flying crockery
issue.”
Carlos sighed. Like the rest of the Isle, he knew parties
brought out Maleficent’s worst behavior. There was nothing
she hated more than people openly having fun.
“And we can’t have it at Jay’s because his dad will just try
to hypnotize everyone into being his servants again,” Mal
continued.
“Totally,” agreed Jay.
Carlos nodded again, although he wasn’t sure where this
was leading.
“Great. Perfect. Party at your house. Tonight.”
Party? At his house? Did he hear that right?
“Wait, what? Tonight?” He blanched. “I can’t have a party!
I mean, you should understand, my mom doesn’t really like it
when people come over—and, um, I’ve got a lot of work to do
—I have to fluff her furs, iron her undergarments, I mean—”
He gulped, embarrassed.
Mal ignored him. “Spread the news. Hell Hall’s having a
hell-raiser.” She seemed to warm to the thought. “Get the word
out. Activate the twilight bark, or whatever it is you puppies
do.”
“Bowwow,” barked Jay with a laugh.
Carlos glared at the two of them, in spite of himself.
 “There’s a party?” Evie asked shyly. Carlos had forgotten
she was standing right next to him, and he jumped at the sound
of her voice.
“Eavesdrop, much?” Mal said, snarling at her although it
was obvious Evie couldn’t help it, as she was standing right
next to them.
Before Evie could protest, Mal sighed. “Of course there is.
The party of the year. A real rager, didn’t you hear?” Mal
looked her up and down and shook her head sadly. “Oh, I
guess you didn’t hear.” She mock-winced, looking at Carlos
conspiratorially. “Everyone’s going to be there.”
“They are?” Carlos looked confused. “But you only just
told me to have it—” He quickly got the message. “Everyone,”
he agreed.
Evie smiled. “Sounds awesome. I haven’t been to a party
in a long, long time.”
Mal raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is a very
exclusive party, and I’m afraid you didn’t get an invitation.”
With those parting words, Mal went ahead of them into the
classroom—she was in their next class too, of course (her EQ
was legendary)—and left them to each other.
“Sorry,” Carlos mumbled. “I guess I was wrong, Mal
doesn’t just talk a big game.”
“Yeah, me too. The party sounds like fun,” Evie said sadly.
“You want to see what I’m making?” he asked, trying to
change the subject as they settled into their seats. He took out
of his bag a black box, with wires and an antenna poking out
from one side—the same contraption he’d been fiddling with
earlier. “I made it from some old magician’s stuff.”
“Sure.” Evie smiled. “Hey, is that a power core? It looks
like you’re making a battery, right?”
Carlos nodded, impressed. “Yeah.”
“What does it do?”
“Can you keep a secret?” he asked, whispering.
 Evie nodded. “I keep them from my mom all the time.”
“I’m trying to poke a hole in the dome.”
“Really? Can you do that? I thought it was invincible.”
“Well, I thought I could maybe try to get a signal with this
antenna here. It’s actually an old wand, and I think if I hit the
right frequency, we might be able to bring some of the outside
world into the dome, and we can watch something other than
that hairy old beast king telling us to be good, or that channel
that only sells shackles.”
“I sort of like the Auradon channel,” Evie said dreamily.
“Especially when they feature the Prince of the Week. They’re
so dreamy.”
Carlos snorted.
She looked from the boy to the battery. “Frequency? But
how?”
“I’m not sure, but I think if I can break through the dome,
we’d be able to pick up Auradon’s radio waves—you know,
Internet and wi-fi signals. I’m not exactly sure what the
frequency is, but I think that’s how they get all those channels
and stuff.”
Evie sighed again. “What I’d give to go to Auradon. I’ve
heard that everything is so beautiful there.”
“Um, I guess. If you’re into that kind of thing,” Carlos
said. He didn’t care about princes or enchanted lakes or
chirping animals or cheerful dwarfs. What he did care about
was discovering more of the online world, a safe virtual
refuge, where he’d heard you could even find people with
whom you could play videogames—that sounded like fun, as
he never had anyone to play with.
There had to be something more to life than kowtowing to
the cool kids, organizing his mother’s fur coats, and hiding
from her tantrums.
There had to be. Although right now it wasn’t just his
mother he had to answer to. If Mal was serious, which it
looked like she was, in the next few hours he somehow had to
figure out how to throw the party of the year.
Meanwhile, across the Sea of Serenity, which separated the
Isle of the Lost from the rest of the world, lay the USA—the
United States of Auradon, a land of peace and enchantment,
prosperity and delight, which encompassed all the good
kingdoms. To the east lay the colorful domes of the Sultan’s
seat, where Aladdin and Jasmine lived, not far from where
Mulan and Li Shang guarded the imperial palace. To the north
was Charming Castle, owned by Cinderella and her king, next
door to “Honeymoon Cottage,” the forty-bedroom palace that
Aurora and Phillip called home. And to the south, one could
spy the lanterns of Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert’s divine
domicile, near the spot on the coast where Ariel and Eric had
made their under-and-over-the-sea royal residence at Seaside.
But right in the center was the grandest castle in all of
Auradon, with lavish turrets and balconies, its highest towers
flying the proud blue-and-gold banner of the good old USA.
Inside the magnificent building were many ballrooms, great
rooms and state rooms, a formal dining room that could seat
hundreds, where everyone was made to feel like a pampered
guest, and a wondrous library that held all the books that were
ever written.
This was all fitting, of course, because this was Castle
Beast, home of King Beast and Queen Belle, the seat of
Auradon. Twenty years ago, King Beast united all the fairy-
tale lands into one under his crown; and for the past two
decades he had ruled over its good citizens with strong and fair
judgment, and only occasionally a tiny bit of his beastly
temper.
Belle had a calming influence on the hotheaded Beast: she
was not just the love of his life but the pacifier of his moods,
the voice of reason in a gathering storm, and the mother of his
only child.
The jewel in the crown was their handsome son, fifteen-
year-old Prince Ben. There had been no fairies at his
christening to bestow gifts, perhaps because he did not need
any. Ben was as handsome as his father, with his strong brow
and chisel-cut cheekbones, but he had his mother’s gentle eyes
and keen intellect. He was a golden boy in every way, with a
good heart and a winning spirit—captain of the tourney team,
friend to all, destined to rule Auradon one day.
In short, he was the very sort of person that the people of
the Isle of Lost despised. And, as on the Isle of the Lost, magic
was no longer a factor in daily life in Auradon either. King
Beast and Queen Belle stressed scholarship above
enchantment, exhorting the young people to work hard instead
of relying on fairy spells or dragon friends for help. Because
Beast was the most powerful figure in all the kingdoms, when
he proposed the new work ethic, nobody argued against him. It
was indeed a new (once upon a) time for the people of the
fabled fairy-tale lands.
But even without magic, life in Auradon was close to
perfect. The sun always shone, the birds always chirped, there
was never more than a five-minute wait at the DFMV (the
Department of Formerly Magical Vehicles); and if everyone
wasn’t happy all the time (it’s not as if this were heaven—get
a grip, people), everyone was content.
Except, of course, when they weren’t.
Isn’t that always the way?
The kingdom’s various short or fluffy or furry or
minuscule—and sometimes animal—sidekicks were causing
problems again. Sidekicks United, they called themselves, and
they were far from happy. They were, in a word, disgruntled.
“Well, then, how can we help you today? Let’s see.…”
Ben wasn’t talking to anyone but a piece of paper—or a
thousand pieces. He stared down at the documents in front of
him, tapping them with his pen. His father had asked him to
lead the Council meeting that morning, part of the training for
becoming king in a few months.
As was tradition, the firstborn child of the royal household
would take the throne of Auradon at sixteen years of age.
Beast and Belle were ready to retire. They were looking
forward to long vacation cruises, early-bird dinners, and
playing golf (Beast), bingo (Belle), and generally taking it
easy. Besides, Belle had a stack of unread bedside reading so
high, it threatened to topple over on a huffy Mrs. Potts when
she came to take away the breakfast tray every morning.
The complaint wasn’t the only thing on his mind. Ben had
woken up that morning from a bit of a nightmare. Or it felt
like a nightmare—and it certainly looked like one. In the
dream, he was walking around a strange village full of
shabbily dressed, miserable people who ate rotten fruit and
drank black coffee. No cream. No sugar. No coffee cake to dip
in it. The horror! And he had fallen into some kind of ditch,
but someone had helped him out.
A beautiful, purple-haired girl who looked nothing like
anyone in Auradon…
“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “And who are you?”
But she’d disappeared before he could catch her name.
He went back to the papers in his hand and tried to forget
about her.
Ben studied the Sidekicks United complaint—the first of
its kind—and his heart beat a little faster at the thought of
having to talk to all these people and convince them that there
was no need for this level of discontent.
He sighed, until a familiar voice interrupted his reverie.
 “Be careful about the sidekicks, son. Sooner or later they
steal the spotlight.”
Ben looked up, surprised to see his father standing in the
doorway. King Beast looked like he always did, as smiling and
happy and fulfilled as on his billboards. All over Auradon,
they read Good job being good! Keep it up! King Beast roars
his approval!
His father motioned to the stack of papers on Ben’s desk.
“Looks like you’re working hard.”
Ben wiped his eyes. “Yeah.”
King Beast clapped his paw of a hand on his son’s
shoulder. “That’s my boy. So what is it that they want,
exactly?”
Ben scratched behind his ear with his pen. “It seems
they’re a bit upset, as they do all the work around here and are
hardly compensated for their efforts. If you think about it from
their perspective, they have a point.”
“Mmm.” King Beast nodded. “Everyone gets a voice in
Auradon. Although you can’t let too many voices drown out
reason, of course. That’s what it means to be kingly,” he said,
perhaps a little more forcefully than was necessary.
“If you keep raising your voice, my darling, you’re going
to crack all the china, and Mrs. Potts will never allow you
either a cup of warm milk or a warm bath again.” Ben’s
mother, the goodly Queen Belle, arrived in the room and
slipped her hand under her husband’s muscled arm (yet
another Beastly quality the king still seemed to possess—the
strength of a wild creature in the form of a mere man). She
was as beautiful as the day she had come upon Beast’s castle,
and resplendent in a pretty yellow dress. If there were laugh
lines around her eyes now, no one seemed to notice; and if
anything, they only served to make her look more appealing.
The second he saw his mother, Ben found himself more at
ease. He shy and quiet, his mother gentle and understanding,
Ben and Belle had always been two like peas in a castle-
garden pod—always preferring to have their noses in books
rather than affairs of the state.
“But half the castle staff has signed this petition—see,
there’s Lumiere’s scrawl, and Cogsworth’s,” Ben said, his
forehead wrinkling. Injustice of any kind was upsetting to
think about, and it bothered him that the very people on whom
his family depended to keep their lives in running order
believed that they had cause for complaint.
“Lumiere and Cogsworth will sign anything anyone asks
them to sign. Last week they signed a petition to declare every
day a holiday,” his father said, amused.
Ben had to laugh. King Beast had a point. The fussy
Frenchman and the jolly Brit would agree to anything so they
could get back to their work. Chip Potts, who was known to
make a little mischief around the castle, had probably put them
up to it.
“That’s the ticket. Listen to your people, but assert your
right to rule. Lead with a gentle heart and a firm hand. That’s
the way to be a king!”
King Beast extended his own fist, and Ben just stared at it.
He gazed down at his own hand, which looked like a small
child’s in comparison to his father’s.
Beast pulled Ben up by the arm, closing his hand around
his son’s. “There. Strong. Powerful. Kingly.”
King Beast’s hand was so enormous Ben found he could
no longer see his own.
“Strong. Powerful. Kingly,” Ben repeated.
Beast growled, then slapped his son on the back, almost
sending him flying into the nearest decorative lamp. The floor
shook as he strode out of the room, still chuckling.
Queen Belle looked relieved; Beast was not above making
a joke at his own expense—though he was much less forgiving
when anyone else attempted the same line of humor. She put
her arms around her son, drawing him close.
 “Ben. You don’t have to be another King Beast. Just be
yourself—it’s more than enough.”
“That’s not what Father says.”
Belle smiled. They both knew there was no use trying to
explain away his father’s logic, and she didn’t try. “No matter
what, your father and I believe in you. That’s why we wanted
you to start meeting with the Council. It’s time for you to learn
how to rule. You will make a wonderful king, all on your own.
I promise.”
“I hope so,” Ben said, uncertainly.
“I know so,” Belle said, kissing his cheek.
As the feather-light steps of his mother faded away, Ben
took up his pen and turned back to his pages. This time,
though, all he could see was his fist, with the same golden
beast-head ring that his father wore.
Strong. Powerful. Kingly.
He clenched his fingers harder.
Ben swore he would make his father proud.
“Well, you look very pleased with yourself,” said Jay as
Mal settled into her front-row seat and propped her feet up on
the desk next to her.
“I am,” she said. “I just taught that little blueberry what it
means to feel left out.”
“Carlos looked like he was going to have a cow when you
told him he was hosting your party.”
“You mean a dog?” Mal laughed, even though the joke
was getting old.
Jay elbowed her with a wink before melting away to his
desk in the back of the room.
Mal was in a good mood. This class was her favorite:
Advanced Evil Schemes and Nasty Tricks, taught by Lady
Tremaine, otherwise known as the Wicked Stepmother. Mal
was particularly fond of Mean-Spirited Pranks.
“Hello, you dreadful children,” Lady Tremaine said,
entering the room with a swish of her petticoats and casting a
bored look at the class in front of her. “Today we will embark
on our annual class project: Crafting the Ultimate Evil
Scheme.”
 She turned toward the chalkboard and wrote in earsplitting
cursive: The Cinderella Story: Once Upon a Broken Glass
Slipper. “As you well know,” she said, as she turned back to
the students, “my manipulation of Cinderella was my greatest
evil deed. For years I kept her in the attic and treated her as a
virtual servant. If not for some horrid meddling mice, one of
my daughters would be the queen of Charming Castle right
now, instead of that ungrateful girl. And so, the goal of every
teacher at Dragon Hall is to train the new generation of villains
not to make the same mistakes we did. You must learn to
adapt, to be faster, more cunning, and wickeder than ever
before. You will spend this year working on an evil scheme of
your choosing. The student with the best nasty trick will win
Dragon Hall’s Evilest of the Year award.”
The class nodded their heads in unison, each filling with a
variety of ideas for awful tricks. Mal scratched her nose with
the end of her purple-plumed fountain pen, wondering what
her year-long scheming project would be. She looked around
the room at her fellow students scribbling away on notepads,
brows furrowed, some cackling softly under their breaths. Her
mind was racing with horrid ideas, each more horrid than the
last. Lock all the first-years in the dungeon? Been there, done
that. Fill the hallways with cockroaches? Child’s play. Let a
stampede of goblins loose in the slop hall? That would be just
a regular Tuesday.…
Across the room, Mal heard a soft giggle. She looked over
her shoulder to find that annoying new girl Evie chatting
cheerfully with Carlos De Vil as they played with some sort of
black box on his desk. Ugh. That girl had nothing to be happy
about. Why, hadn’t she, Mal, just told her she couldn’t come to
the howler of the year? Mal was slightly disconcerted for a
moment, until she realized: the evil scheme of the year was
right in front of her.
A twisted smile formed on her lips, and she chewed her
fountain pen for a moment before scribbling a page’s worth of
notes.
She would show that blue-haired princess a thing or two.
 Of course, she’d already told Evie that she couldn’t come
to the party, but that wasn’t enough. It was too simple, too
blunt. Mal had to be sneaky, like Lady Tremaine had been,
pretending to be working in Cinderella’s best interests when
she had been doing exactly the opposite.
Mal realized that she’d been waiting years for this chance,
whether or not she’d consciously known it. The memory of the
“lost” invitation—if indeed it had ever existed in the first place
(it was still unclear what had truly happened)—grated on her
feelings as sharply today as it had when she was six years old.
A day like that can only happen once in sixteen years.
A day like that changes a person.
A day like that was never going to happen again.
Not if Mal could help it.
And to be honest, Mal wanted to do more than ruin Evie’s
day, she wanted to ruin her year. On second thought, maybe
keeping Evie out of the party was the wrong move. If Evie
wasn’t there, then Mal wouldn’t have the opportunity to
torture her to her heart’s delight.
Mal finished writing down her plans just as the bell rang
and caught up to Jay, who was all cheer and charm—and by
the time they reached the door, his pockets were full of much
more than that.
“Hold up,” Mal said as she spotted Carlos and Evie
coming toward them.
Evie looked genuinely fearful and Carlos wary as they
approached Mal, who blocked the doorway.
“Hey, Evie, you know that party I’m having?” Mal asked.
Evie nodded. “Um, yeah?”
“I was only kidding earlier,” Mal said with the sweetest
smile she could manage. “Of course you’re invited.”
“I am?” Evie squealed. “Are you sure you want me there?”
“I don’t want anything more in the world,” said Mal
grandly, and truthfully. “Don’t miss it.”
 “I won’t,” promised Evie with a nervous smile.
Mal watched her and Carlos skitter away with satisfaction.
Jay raised an eyebrow. “What was that all about? I thought
you didn’t want her there,” he said, as he deftly stole a rotten
banana from a first-year’s lunch pail.
“Plans change.”
“An evil scheme, huh?” Jay waggled both eyebrows.
“Maybe,” Mal said mysteriously, not wanting to give
anything away. It wasn’t like Jay could be trusted. “Thieves’
honor” meant neither of them had any.
“Come on. It’s me. The only one you can stand on this
island.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, only half smiling.
“Don’t you hate parties? You didn’t go to Anthony
Tremaine’s kickback the other week, and you missed my
cousin Jade’s ‘Scary Sixteenth.’ They were off-the-hook, as
the pirate posse would say.” He smirked.
“Those were different. Anyway, you need to hop to it.
Carlos can’t throw my party alone.” She grabbed his arm. “We
need jugs of spicy cider, bags of stale potato chips, sparkling
slop, the works.”
Jay peeled the banana and took a bite. “Done.”
“And make sure it’s the good stuff from the wharf, from
the first boats. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
He saluted and tossed the banana peel on the floor, and
they both watched gleefully as a fellow student slipped and
fell. Things like that never got old.
Mal smiled, her green eyes glittering a little more like her
mother’s than usual. “Let’s go. I have a party to throw.” And
someone to throw it at.
Carlos never shied from a mission, and if Mal wanted a
howler, there was no alternative but to provide one. There was
nothing he could do about it, AP Evil Penchant or not. He
knew his place on the totem pole.
First things first: a party couldn’t be a party without guests.
Which meant people. Lots of people. Bodies. Dancing.
Talking. Drinking. Eating. Playing games. He had to get the
word out.
Thankfully it didn’t take too long for everyone he crossed
paths with at school, and the minions of everyone they crossed
paths with, to spread the word. Because Carlos didn’t so much
issue an invitation as deliver a threat.
Literally.
He didn’t mince words, and the threats only grew more
exaggerated as the school day wore on. The rumors spread like
the gusty, salty wind that blew up from the alligator-infested
waters surrounding the island.
“Be there, or Mal will find you,” he said to his squat little
lab partner, Le Fou Deux, as they both dissected a frog that
would never turn into a prince in Unnatural Biology class.
 “Be there, or Mal will find you and ban you from the city
streets,” he whispered to the Gastons as they took turns
stuffing each other in doomball nets in PE.
“Be there, or Mal will find you and ban you and make
everyone forget you, and from this day onward you will be
known only by the name of Slop!” he said almost hysterically
to a group of frightened first-years gathered for a meeting of
the Anti-Social Club, which was planning the school’s annual
Foul Ball. They turned pale at his words and desperately
promised their attendance, even as they trembled at the
thought.
By the end of the day, Carlos had secured dozens of
RSVPs. Now, that wasn’t too hard, he thought, putting away
his books in his locker and releasing the first-year who’d been
trapped inside.
“Hey, man.” Carlos nodded.
“Thanks, I really have to pee,” squeaked the unfortunate
student.
“Sure,” Carlos said, scrunching his nose. “Oh, and there’s
a party. My house. Midnight.”
“I heard, I’ll be there! Wouldn’t miss it!” the first-year
said, raising his fist to the air in excitement.
Carlos nodded, feeling mollified and more than a little
impressed that even someone who’d been trapped inside a
locker all day had heard the news about the party. He was a
natural! Maybe party planning was in his blood. His mother
certainly knew how to enjoy herself, didn’t she? Cruella was
always telling him how boring he was because all he liked to
do was fiddle with electronics all day. His mother declared he
was wasting his time, that he was useless at everything except
chores, and so maybe if he threw a good party, he could prove
her wrong. Not that she would be around to witness it, though.
She’d probably be enraged to discover her Hell Hall crawling
with teenagers. Still, he wished that one day Cruella could see
him as more than just a live-in servant who happened to be
related to her.
 He made his way home, his mind awhirl. With the guests
secured, all he had to do was get the house ready for the
blessed event—and that couldn’t be too hard, could it?
A few hours later, Carlos took it all back. “Why did I ever
agree to have this party?” he agonized aloud. “I never wanted
to have a party.” He raked his fingers through his curly,
speckled hair, which made it stick up in a frazzle, a lot like
Cruella’s own do.
“You mean tonight?” A voice echoed from the other end of
the crumbling ballroom, from behind the giant, tarnished
statue of a great knight.
“I mean ever,” sighed Carlos. It was true. He was a man of
science, not society. Not even evil society.
But here he was, decorating Hell Hall, which had seen
better days long before he’d been born. Still, the decrepit
Victorian mansion was one of the grandest on the island,
covered in vines more twisted than Cruella’s own mind, and
gated with iron more wrought than Cruella’s own daily
hysterias.
The main ballroom was now draped in the sagging black-
and-white crepe paper and partly deflated black-and-white
balloons that Carlos had pilfered from a sad stack of dusty
boxes stashed in his building’s basement. Those few boxes,
stamped De Vil Industries, were all that remained of the
former De Vil fashion empire—the merest scraps of a better
life that had long since faded away.
His mother, of course, would be furious when she saw that
Carlos had gotten into her boxes again—“My stolen
treasures,” she’d scream, “my lost babies!”—but Carlos was
a pragmatist, and a scavenger.
Why his mother had ever been obsessed with black-and-
white Dalmatian puppies, he had no idea. He was terrified of
those things; but she had been prepared to own one hundred
and one of them, so there was a lot of stuff to scavenge.
Over the years, he’d repurposed more than a few empty
crates—scientists requiring bookshelves as they did—
abandoned leashes—nylon withstanding the elements as it did
—and unsqueaked squeaky toys—rubber repelling electricity
as it did—that had fallen by the wayside when his mother’s
plans were foiled.
An AP Evil scientist and inventor like Carlos couldn’t
afford to be choosy. He needed materials for his research.
“Why did you agree to this party? Easy. Because Mal
asked you to,” Carlos’s second-best friend Harry said, shaking
his head as he wiggled his fingers, tape dangling from each
one. “Maybe you should try, for your next invention, to build
something that would free us all from her mind control.”
His third-best friend, Jace, tried to take a piece of tape but
only succeeded in taping himself to Harry. “Yeah, right. No
one can stand up to Mal,” said Jace. “As if.”
Harry (Harold) and Jace (Jason) were the sons of Horace
and Jasper, Cruella’s loyal minions, the two blundering thieves
who had attempted to kidnap the one hundred and one
Dalmatian puppies for her and failed miserably. Just like their
fathers, Harry and Jace tried to look like they were more
capable and less nervous than they actually were.
But Carlos knew otherwise.
Harry, as short and fat as his father, could barely reach to
fasten his side of the ebony streamer. Jace, taller even than his
own tall, scrawny father, didn’t have that same problem but, as
previously mentioned, couldn’t manage to figure out the tape
dispenser. Between them, they didn’t exactly constitute a brain
trust. More like a brain mis-trust.
Carlos wouldn’t have chosen them as his friends—his
mother chose them for him, just like she did everything else.
“They’re all we’ve got,” Cruella would say. “Even when
we have nothing else, we’ll always have…”
“Friends?” Carlos had guessed.
“Friends?!” Cruella had laughed. “Who needs friends
when you have minions to do your bidding!”
 Cruella certainly ruled Jasper and Horace with an iron
leash, but one could hardly say that Harry and Jace did
Carlos’s bidding. They only seemed to hang around because
their fathers made them, and only because they were all scared
of Carlos’s mother.
Which was why he considered them only his second- and
third-best friends. He didn’t have a first best friend, but he
knew enough about the concept of friendship, even without
having any proper ones of his own, to know that an actual best
friend would have to be able to do something more than follow
him around, tripping over his feet and repeating his not-worth-
saying-the-first-time jokes.
All the same, it was good to have some help for the party,
and it was Harry who nodded sadly at him now. “If Mal
doesn’t like this party, we’re doomed.”
“Doomed,” echoed Jace.
Carlos surveyed the rest of the room. Every piece of
broken-down old furniture was covered in a dusty white linen
cloth. Every few feet of plaster wallboard was punctured by a
crumbling hole that revealed the plywood and plaster
underneath.
The overachiever in him bristled. He could do better than
this! He had to. He rushed upstairs and dug out his mother’s
antique brass candelabras and rigged them up around the
room. With the lights off, the candles glimmered and flickered
as if they were floating in midair.
Next, was the chandelier swing—a staple at any Isle party,
or so he’d heard. He had Jace climb up a makeshift ladder and
tie a rope swing to the light fixture. Harry jumped off from one
of the sheet-covered couches to test it out, which caused a
cloud of dust to settle over the whole room. Carlos approved—
it kind of looked like a fresh snowfall had been sprinkled over
the hall.
He picked up the rotary phone and called his cousin Diego
De Vil, who was the lead singer in a local band called the Bad
Apples.
 “You guys want a gig tonight?”
“Do we ever! Heard Mal’s having a full-moon howler!”
The band arrived not too long after, setting up the drum set
by the window and practicing their songs. Their music was
loud and fast, and Diego, a tall, skinny guy who sported a
black-and-white Mohawk, sang out of tune. It was marvelous.
The perfect soundtrack for the evening.
Next up, Carlos dug out an old-fashioned instant Polaroid
camera he’d found in the attic. He fashioned a private booth
by removing the sheet from a couch and rigging it on a rod in
a secluded corner. “Photo booth! You take their photo,” he said
to Jace. “And you hand it to them,” he told Harry.
Carlos admired his handiwork. “Not too shabby,” he said.
“Now we’re talking.”
“And it’s about to get a whole lot better,” said an
unfamiliar voice.
Carlos turned to see Jay entering the room holding four
huge grocery bags filled with all manner of party snacks:
stinky cheese and withered grapes, deviled eggs (so
appropriate) and wings (sinfully spicy), and more. Jay pulled a
bottle of the island’s best spicy cider out of his jacket and
dumped it into the cracked punch bowl on the coffee table.
“Wait! Stop! I don’t want things to get out of hand,” Carlos
said, trying to grab the bottle and cap it. “How did you get
your hands on all of that sugar!”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Jay said, grinning.
“Better your party gets out of hand than Mal gets out of sorts.”
Jay sank to the couch, putting his combat boots up by the
punch bowl. The minions shrugged, and Carlos sighed.
The guy had a point.
As the clock struck midnight, Mal’s guests began to arrive in
force. There were no gourd-like carriages or rodent-like
servants to be seen, not anywhere. Nothing had been
transformed into anything, especially not what anyone would
consider a cool ride.
 There were only feet, in varying degrees of shoddy
footwear. Perhaps because their feet were the largest, the
Gastons arrived first, as usual. They never risked a late
entrance, so as not to miss a buffet table full of food they
might swallow whole before anyone else got a taste.
During the awkward silence that followed the Gastons
head-butting their hellos and competitively slamming pitchers
of smuggled root beer, a whole ship’s worth of Harriet Hook’s
pirate crew came marauding through the door.
As Carlos stood against the faded wallpaper nursing his
spicy punch, the Gastons and the pirate posse busied
themselves with chasing the next group of guests through the
house. This happened to be an entire cackling slew of evil
step-granddaughters, festooned with raggedy ribbons and
droopy curls, elbowing their way around the corners at top
speed. “Don’t chase us!” they begged, just waiting to be
chased. “You’re horrible!” they screamed, horribly. “Sto-o-o-
o-o-o-p,” they said, refusing to stop.
Their cousin, Anthony Tremaine followed them into the
room, rolling his eyes.
The band struck up a rollicking tune. Dark-haired Ginny
Gothel arrived with a bushel of wormy apples, and a game of
bob-for-the-wormiest-apple broke out in the tub. Everybody
wanted a turn on the chandelier swing, and the rest of the
guests were engaged in a serious dance-off over by the band.
All in all, it was shaping up to be a wicked good time.
More than an hour after the party had officially started, there
was a sharp knock on the door. It wasn’t clear what made this
knock different from all the others, but different it was. Carlos
leapt to his feet like a soldier suddenly called to attention. Jay
stopped dancing with a posse of evil step-granddaughters. The
Gastons looked up from the buffet table. Little Sammy Smee
held an apple between his teeth questioningly.
Carlos steadied his nerves and opened the door. “Go
away!” he yelled, using the island’s traditional greeting.
Mal stood in the doorway. Backlit by the dim hall light, in
shiny purple leather from head to toe, she appeared to have not
so much a halo as a shimmer, like the lead vocalist of a band
during a particularly well-lit rock concert—the kind with
smoke and neon and bits of sparkly nonsense in the air.
Carlos half-expected her to start belting a tune with the
band. Perhaps he should have felt excited that such an
infamous personality had decided to come to his party.
Er, her party.
There would be no unplugging this party like one of his
rebuilt stereos, not once it had begun, especially not the sort of
party Mal seemed to have in mind.
“Hey, Carlos,” she drawled. “Am I late?”
“Not at all,” said Carlos. “Come in.”
“Excited to see me?” Mal asked with a smile.
He nodded yes. Except that Carlos wasn’t excited.
He was terrified.
Somewhere, deep down, he even wanted his mommy.
“Toad’s-blood shots!” declared Mal, leaping into the room
as if she were just another guest. “For everyone!”
And just like that, the party began again, as quickly as it
had stopped. It was like the entire room exhaled in one
relieved breath. Mal isn’t mad. Mal isn’t banning us from the
streets. Mal isn’t renaming us Slop.
Not yet.
Mal could see their relief on their faces, and she didn’t
blame them. They were right. The way she’d been feeling
lately, it was certainly something to celebrate.
So the crowd cheered, and toad’s-blood shots splashed
across the room by the cupful, and Mal, in a show of generous
sportsmanship, chugged a slimy cup right along with the rest.
She circled the party¸ pilfering a wallet from one of the
Gastons, stopping to share a mean giggle with Ginny Gothel
about the dress Harriet Hook was wearing, ducking under an
overenthusiastic pirate swinging from the chandelier, taking a
bite out of someone else’s devil dog and grabbing a mouthful
of dry popcorn. She walked into the hallway and bumped into
Jay, who was out of breath after winning the latest dance-off.
“Having fun?” he asked.
 She shrugged. “Where’d Carlos go?”
Jay laughed and pointed toward a pair of black shoes
poking out from behind a sheet covering the biggest of the
bookcases. “Hiding from his own party. Typical.”
Mal knew how Carlos felt, though she’d never admit it.
Truly, she’d rather be almost anywhere on the whole Isle than
at this party. Like her mother, she hated the sights and sounds
of revelry. Fun made her uncomfortable. Laughter? Gave her
hives. But a vendetta was a vendetta, and she had more
planned for this evening than just Deep, Dark, Secret or
Death-Defying Dare.
“Come on,” said Jay. “They’re playing pin the tail on the
minion over there, and Jace has like, ten tails. Let’s see if we
can make it a dozen.”
“Maybe in a minute. Where’s Princess Blueberry?” Mal
asked. “I did a whole loop of this party, and I didn’t see her
anywhere.”
“You mean Evie? She’s not here yet. Nobody seems to
know if she’s coming or not.” Jay shrugged. “Castle kids.”
“She has to come. She’s the whole point. She’s the only
reason I’m even having this stupid party.” Mal hated when her
evil schemes didn’t go exactly as planned. This was the first
step in Operation Take Down Evie, Or Else, and it had to
work. She sighed, staring at the door. Pretending to be having
fun at a party when you hated parties was the most tiresome
thing in the world.
Mal had to agree with her mother on that one.
“What are you two doing?” asked Anthony Tremaine,
Lady Tremaine’s sixteen-year-old grandson, a tall, elegant boy
with dark hair swept off a haughty forehead. His clothes were
as worn and ragged as everyone else’s on the Isle, but
somehow he always looked as if he was wearing custom
tailoring. His dark leather coat was cut perfectly, his jeans the
right dark wash. Maybe it was because Anthony had noble
blood, and would probably have lived in Auradon except for
his grandmother’s being, you know, evil and banished. At one
point he’d tried to get everyone on the Isle to call him Lord
Tremaine, but the villain kids had all just laughed in his face.
“Just talking,” said Mal.
“Evil plotting,” said Jay.
They looked at each other.
Something about Anthony’s handsome face brought to
Mal’s mind another handsome boy—the prince from her
dream. He’d said he was her friend. His smile was kind and
his voice gentle. Mal shuddered.
“Do you want something?” Mal asked Anthony coolly.
“Yes. To dance.” Anthony looked at her expectantly.
She looked at him, confused. “Wait—with me?” Nobody
had ever asked her before. But she’d never really been to a
party before either.
“Well, I didn’t mean him,” Anthony said, looking
awkwardly at Jay. “No offense, man.”
“None taken.” Jay grinned broadly, knowing how
uncomfortable this made Mal. He found it hilarious. “You two
kids go have fun out there. Anthony, make sure you pick a
slow song,” he said, as he slid away. “I have a step-
granddaughter waiting for me.”
Mal could feel her cheeks turning pink, which was
embarrassing, because she wasn’t afraid of anything, least of
all dancing with snotty Anthony Tremaine.
So why are you blushing? she thought.
“I’m not really a dancer,” she said lamely.
“I can show you,” he said with a smooth smile.
Mal bristled. “I mean, I don’t dance with anyone. Ever.”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed?
Mal thought about it. Her mind flashed back to earlier that
evening. She’d been getting ready for the party, trying to
choose between violet-hued holey or mauve patchwork jeans,
when her mother had made a rare appearance at her door.
“Where on this dreadful island could you possibly be
going?” Maleficent asked.
“To a party,” Mal said.
Maleficent let out an exasperated sigh. “Mal, what have I
told you about parties?”
“I’m not going to have fun, Mother. I’m going so I can
make someone miserable.” She almost wanted to share
Operation Evie Scheme right then, but thought better of it. She
would tell her mother once she had completed it successfully,
lest she disappoint her once more. Maleficent never failed to
remind Mal that sometimes it just didn’t seem like Mal was
evil enough to be her daughter. At your age I cursing entire
kingdoms was a familiar phrase Mal had grown up hearing.
“So you’re off to make someone miserable?” her mother
cooed.
“Wretched, really!” enthused Mal.
A slow smile formed on Maleficent’s thin red lips. She
crossed the room and stood in front of Mal, reaching out to
trace a long nail along Mal’s cheek. “That’s a nasty little girl,”
she said. Mal swore she saw a glimmer of pride flicker in her
mother’s cold, emerald-green eyes.
Mal snapped back to reality as the band finished a punk rock
number with clashing cymbals and a drum roll. Anthony
Tremaine was still staring at her.
“So why don’t you dance, again?”
Because I don’t have time to dance when I have evil
schemes to hatch, Mal wanted to say. One that will make my
mother proud of me, finally.
She turned up her nose. “I don’t have to have a reason.”
“You don’t. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have one.”
He caught her by surprise, because he was right.
 Because she did have a reason, a very good reason to stay
clear of any kind of activity that might hint at or lead to
romance. Her missing father. Otherwise known as He-Who-
Must-Not-Be-Named-in-Maleficent’s-Presence.
So Anthony had her there. Mal had to give him that. But
instead, she glared at him. Then she glared at him again, for
good measure. “Maybe I just like to be alone.” Because maybe
I’m so tired of my mother looking at me like I’m weak, just
because I came from her own moment of weakness.
Because maybe I need to show her that I’m strong enough
and evil enough to prove to her that I’m not like my weak,
human father.
That I can be just like her.
Maybe I don’t want to dance because I don’t want to have
anything human about me.
“That can’t be it.” Anthony said, picking lint off his jacket.
His voice was uncommonly low and pleasant, which once
again brought back to Mal’s mind the handsome prince by the
enchanted lake. Except that Anthony wasn’t quite as
handsome as the boy in her dream had been, not that she
thought that boy handsome, mind you. Not that she thought
about him at all. “Nobody likes to be alone.”
“Well, I do,” she insisted. It was true.
“And besides, everybody wants to dance with a lord,” he
said smugly.
“Nope, not me!”
“Fine, have it your way,” Anthony said, finally backing
away, his head held high. In a hot second, he had already
asked Harriet Hook to dance, and she’d accepted with a
delighted shriek.
Mal exhaled. Phew. Boys. Dreams. Princes. It was all too
much for one day.
“Mal. Mal. Earth to Mal?” Jay waved a hand in front of her
face. “You okay?”
 Mal nodded but didn’t answer. For a moment she had been
lost in the memory of that awful dream again. Except that this
time it didn’t seem so much a dream as a premonition? That
one day she might just find herself in Auradon? But how could
that be?
Jay frowned, holding out a cup of cider. “Here. It’s like
you’ve powered down, or something.”
Mal realized that she hadn’t moved from the front hall.
She’d been standing there, stupidly frozen, ever since Anthony
had left her side. That was three songs ago, and the Bad
Apples were playing their current hit, “Call Me Never.”
She perked up, not because of the cider or the catchy song
but because, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Evie
through the floor-to-ceiling window in the foyer. She was
coming down the road in a brand-new rickshaw, her pretty V-
braid gleaming in the moonlight. She thinks she is so special.
Well, I’ll show her, Mal thought. Her eyes wandered over the
room and rested upon a familiar-looking door.
It was the door that led to Cruella De Vil’s storage closet.
Mal only knew it was there because she and Carlos had once
accidentally come across it when they were working on a skit
about evil family trees in sixth grade, and Mal had been bored
and had decided to go poking around Hell Hall. Cruella’s
closet was not for the faint of heart.
Mal would never forget that day. It was the kind of closet
that would get the best of anyone. Especially a princess who
was making her way up the steps to the front door and would
appear at any moment now.
“Jay,” she said, motioning to the front door. “Let me know
when Evie arrives.”
“Huh? What? Why?”
“You’ll see,” she told him.
“All part of the evil scheme, huh?” he said, happy to do
her bidding. Jay was always up for a good prank.
But Carlos went white-faced when he saw where Mal was
heading. “Don’t—” he shouted. He shook off his sheet, almost
tripping over the fabric in an attempt to get to the door before
Mal could open it all the way.
It slammed shut. Just in time.
But Mal crossed her arms. She wasn’t backing down from
this one. It was just too perfect. She glanced out the window
again. Princess-Oh-So-Fashionably-Late was at the front door
now.
Mal raised her voice. “New game! Seven Minutes in
Heaven! And you’ve never played Seven Minutes if you
haven’t played it in a De Vil closet.”
The words were barely out of Mal’s mouth before most of
the evil step-granddaughters practically trampled her to get to
the door. They loved playing Seven Minutes and were
enthusiastically wondering with whom they would end up
inside. A few of them puckered their lips and powdered their
noses while fluttering their eyelashes at Jay, who was stationed
by the front door like a sentry.
“Who wants to go first?” Mal asked.
“Me! Me! Me!” yelped the step-granddaughters.
“She does,” Jay called, holding a very recognizable blue
cape.
“I do? What do I want to do?” asked the cape’s owner.
Mal smiled.
Evie had arrived.
“Evie, sweetie! So glad you could make it!” Mal said,
throwing her arms theatrically around the girl and giving her a
giant and fake embrace. “We’re playing Seven Minutes in
Heaven! Want to play?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” said Evie, looking around the party
nervously.
“It’ll be a scream,” said Mal. “Come on, you want to be
my friend, don’t you?”
Evie stared at Mal. “You want me to be your friend?”
 “Sure—why not?” Mal led her to the closet door and
opened it.
“But doesn’t a boy go in here with me?” Evie asked as Mal
shoved her inside the storage room. For someone castle-
schooled, Evie sure knew her kissing games.
“Did I say Seven Minutes in Heaven? No, you’re playing
Seven Minutes in Hell!” Mal cackled; she couldn’t help it. This
was going to be so much fun.
The crowd around the hallway had scattered in fear after it
was clear Mal had no interest in having other people join the
game—or Evie—inside the locked room.
But Carlos remained standing, his face as white as the tips
of his hair. “Mal, what are you doing?”
“Playing a dirty trick—what does it look like I’m doing?”
“You can’t leave her in there! Remember what happened to
us?” he asked, motioning angrily to his leg, which had two
distinct white scars on the calf.
“I do!” Mal said gleefully. She wondered why Carlos was
so concerned about Evie. It wasn’t as if they’d been taught to
care about other people.
But Carlos soon made clear that he wasn’t being altruistic.
“If she’s not able to get out on her own, I’m going to have to
clean up the mess! And my mother will freak out! You can’t
leave her in there!” he whispered fiercely, anxiety about
Cruella’s punishment written all over his face.
“Fine, go get her,” said Mal with a sly smile on her face,
knowing full well that he wouldn’t.
Carlos quaked in his scuffed loafers. Mal knew there was
nothing he wanted to do less than go back in there again. He
remembered all too well what had happened to him and Mal in
sixth grade.
There was a scream from behind the door.
Mal wiped her hands. “You want her out? You get her
out.” Her job was done.
 Her evil scheme had worked. This was going to be a real
howler.
The first thing Evie thought when the door unceremoniously
closed with a bang behind her was that she had worn her
prettiest dress for nothing. She had been looking forward to
the party all day, had run home to go through every outfit in
her closet, holding up dress after dress to see which shade of
blue looked best. Azure? Periwinkle? Turquoise? She had
settled on a dark midnight-blue lace mini-dress and matching
high-heeled boots. She’d been extremely late to the party, as
her mother had insisted on giving her a three-hour makeover.
Not that it mattered, because she was now locked in a
closet alone. She wasn’t just imagining it—Mal really was out
to get her, most likely for not having been invited to Evie’s
birthday party when they were six years old. But it wasn’t as if
it was her fault! Evie’d been just a kid. It had been her mother
who hadn’t wanted Mal at the party for some reason. Mal
couldn’t hold it against her, could she? Evie sighed. Of course
she could. Evie still remembered the hurt and anger on six-
year-old Mal’s face, looking down from the balcony. Evie
supposed that she’d probably feel the same way—not that she
could see it from Mal’s point of view, or anything. There’s no
me in empathy, as Mother Gothel liked to say.
In the end, Evil Queen probably should have dropped her
grudge against Maleficent and invited her daughter to the
celebration. It certainly hadn’t been fun being cooped up in
their castle for ten years. Evie wasn’t even sure why her
mother had decided that now was a safe time to leave; but so
far, other than Evie being locked in this closet at the moment,
nothing too bad had happened. Yet.
Besides, the darkness of the closet didn’t bother her. Evie
was her mother’s daughter, after all, and used to the horrors of
the night—to dark, hidden things with yellow eyes glittering in
the shadows, to candles dripping over skull candleholders, to
the flash of lightning and the fury of thunder as they rolled
across the sky. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t scared in the
least bit.
Except…
Except…her foot just struck something hard and cold…
and the quiet of the closet was broken by the loud, echoing
snap of steel meeting steel.
She screamed. What was that?! When her eyes adjusted to
the dim light, she saw fur traps littered all over the floor, lying
in wait for the next animal to wander through. There were so
many of them that one wrong step would mean a trap would
snap her leg in two. She turned back to the door and tried to
open it, but it was no use. She was locked in there.
“Help! Help! Let me out!” she yelled.
But there was no answer, and the band was playing so
loudly, Evie knew no one would hear her, nor care.
It was hard to see, so Evie felt her way tentatively in the
darkness, sliding her left foot on the floor first. How many
were there? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? And how big was this
room, anyway?
Her foot came in contact with something cold and heavy,
so she retreated. How was she going to get out of this place
without losing a limb? Was there another door on the other
side, maybe? She squinted. Yes, that was another door. There
was a way out.
She headed slowly to the far end, the floorboards creaking
ominously under her feet.
 Evie shifted to her right, hoping to avoid the trap, to move
around it, but her foot struck another, and she jumped back as
it too snapped shut with a bang, springing into the air and
barely grazing her knee. Her heart thundered in her chest as
she slid around the next trap, careful not to strike the metal for
fear that it might close around her ankle. As long as she
missed the trap’s center, she would be good.
She could do this. All she had to do was move slowly,
carefully. She edged around another one. She was getting
better at this; she could find her way to the back of the room
and possibly another door. She cleared one and then another,
moving more quickly, sliding one foot in front of the other,
searching for and avoiding the traps. Faster. A little faster. The
door must be close, then—
She struck a trap and it suddenly popped up with a snap.
She jumped away, and as the trap fell on the floor, it hit
another trap, which sprang up and hit the one next to it, all in
succession—and this time, Evie saw that she couldn’t move
slowly but that she had to run.
The chorus of snapping metal jaws rang through the
darkness, steel blades against steel blades, as she ran
screaming toward the back door. The traps slammed shut,
BAM BAM BAM, one after another, one a hairbreadth away
from her stocking while another almost caught her heel as she
turned the door handle, left the room, and shut the door behind
her.
But just as she thought she was safe, she realized she had
plunged right into a dark, furry presence.
Was it a bear? A horrible shaggy monster? Had she gotten
out of the frying pan only to fall into the fire? Evie twisted and
turned, but only succeeded in wrapping herself deeper in fur—
dense, thick, woolly fur—with two armholes?
This was no bear…no monster. She was trapped in a fur
coat! Evie tried to shake it off, tried to shrug it off her
shoulders, but she was smack-dab in the middle of dozens of
coats, all of them black or white or black and white, made of
the thickest, lushest hides—there was spotted ocelot and dip-
dyed mink, silky sable and shiny skunk, all of them packed in
like sardines, so full, so fluffy, so thick. This was Cruella De
Vil’s fur closet, her wondrous collection, her obsession, her
greatest weakness.
And those fur traps back there were her security system,
just in case anyone got too close to the stuff.
Evie finally managed to untangle herself and push aside
the wall of fur, just as a hand grasped her wrist and pulled her
through to the other side.
“You okay?” It was Carlos.
Evie took a deep breath. “Yes. I think so. Do I win the
game?” she asked drily.
Carlos laughed. “Mal’s going to be annoyed you
survived.”
“Where are we?” Evie looked around. There was a lumpy
mattress on the floor next to an ironing board and a washbasin,
along with a vanity table that held dozens of white-and-black
wigs.
When Carlos looked embarrassed, she realized it was his
bedroom. Cruella’s fur closet opened onto a dressing room,
where her son slept.
“Oh.”
Carlos shrugged. “It’s home.”
Even if her mother annoyed her sometimes, at least Evil
Queen was obsessed with Evie’s good looks; and even when
she wasn’t worried that perhaps Evie might not be the fairest
of them all, she treated her daughter like the princess she was.
Evie’s room might be dark and musty, but she had a real bed,
not a makeshift one, with a thick blanket and relatively soft
pillows.
“It’s not so bad in here, really!” Evie said. “I’m sure it’s
cozy and, hey…you’ll never catch a cold. You can just use one
of her fur coats for a blanket, right?” It was awfully drafty in
the room: like her own home, Hell Hall wasn’t insulated for
winter.
 Carlos shook his head. “I’m not allowed to touch them,”
he said, trying to put the furs back in order. They were so
heavy, and there were so many of them. “I’ll fix them later.
She doesn’t come back till Sunday.”
Evie nodded. “This is all my mother’s fault. If she hadn’t
tried to challenge Maleficent’s leadership when they first came
to the Isle, none of this would have happened.”
“Your mother actually challenged Maleficent?” Carlos
goggled. It was unheard of.
“Well, she is a queen, after all,” Evie pointed out. “Yeah,
she was angry that everyone on the island decided to follow
Maleficent instead of her.” She walked over to the vanity and
began to fix her makeup, delicately powdering her nose and
applying pink gloss to her full rosebud lips. “And now here we
are.”
“Mal will get over it,” he said hopefully.
“Are you kidding? A grudge is a grudge is a grudge. She’ll
never forgive me. Didn’t you listen in Selfie class? I thought
you were so smart.” Evie smiled wryly. “Oh well, I should just
face it. Go back to our castle and never come out.”
“But you’re not, right?”
“No, I guess not.” Evie put away her compact. “Hey,” she
said softly. “I have an old comforter I never use…I mean, if
you get cold and you can’t…Oh, never mind.” She’d never
had any siblings, so she had no idea what having a little
brother would be like. But if Evil Queen had ever stopped
looking at herself in the mirror long enough to have another
kid, Evie thought it would be tolerable to have a little brother
like Carlos.
Carlos looked as if he didn’t know what to say.
“Forget I said anything,” said Evie in a rush.
“No, no, bring it. I mean, no one’s ever cared whether I’m
warm or not,” he said, blushing red as his voice trailed off.
“Not that you care, of course.”
 “I certainly don’t!” agreed Evie. Caring was definitely
against the rules at Dragon Hall and could turn anyone into a
laughingstock. “We were going to throw it out.”
“Excellent, just consider my home your Dumpster.”
“Er, okay.”
“Do you think you might have a pillow you were going to
toss out too? I’ve never had a pillow.” Carlos turned red again.
“I mean, I’ve had tons of pillows, of course. So many! We
have to keep throwing them away. I get so many pillows. I
mean, who’s never had a pillow in their life? That’s
preposterous.”
“Yeah, I think we were going to throw away a pillow,”
Evie said, turning just as red as Carlos, even as a warm, sunny
sensation had taken over her chest. She changed the subject.
“Still working on that machine of yours?”
“Yeah, wanna see?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Evie replied, following Carlos out of the
room toward the back of the house, away from the party.
Carlos slipped outside, holding the door open for Evie.
“Where are we going?”
“To my lab,” Carlos replied, pulling out a matchbook and
lighting a candle to lead the way into the weedy backyard.
“Your what?”
“My science lab. Don’t worry, I don’t, like, sacrifice toads
or something.”
Evie let out a hesitant laugh.
They approached a huge, gnarled tree with a rope ladder.
Carlos started climbing up it. “I have to keep it all in my tree
house. I’m afraid my mom is going to get some big ideas and
turn my chemicals into makeup and hair products.”
Evie scrambled up the ladder behind him. The tree house
was more elaborate than any she’d ever seen, with miniature
turrets and a tiny balcony that looked out onto the dark forest
below. Inside, Evie spun around, gaping. The walls were lined
with shelves of glass beakers, vials, and jars containing
various neon-colored liquids. In the corner sat a small, old
television with about fifteen different antennas strapped to it.
“What is all this?” Evie asked, picking up a jar of
something white and snowy.
“Oh, that’s from Chem Lab. It’s sodium polyacrylate—I
was trying to see if I could use it as a sponge when mixed with
water,” Carlos said. “But here, this is what I wanted to show
you.” He pulled out the wire-box contraption he’d been
working on in class. “I think I got the battery to work.”
Carlos fiddled with a few buttons and flicked a few
switches. It sputtered to life, then died. His face fell. He tried
again. This time, it emitted a high-pitched squeal before dying.
He looked up at Evie sheepishly. “Sorry, I thought I had
it.”
Evie looked at the black box. “Maybe try connecting this
wire to that one?” she suggested.
Carlos peered at the wires. “You’re right, they’re in the
wrong place.” He switched the wires and hit the switch.
A powerful electric burst shot out of the box, sending
Carlos and Evie flying back against the wall and falling to the
floor. The beam of light burst up toward the plywood ceiling,
blasting a hole in the tree-house roof and up to the sky.
“Maleficent!” Carlos cursed.
“Oh my goblins!” Evie screamed. “What just happened?”
They both scrambled out onto the tree-house balcony and
stared up at the sky, where the light was streaking all the way
up, through the clouds, up, up, up, all to the way to the dome!
The light seared through the barrier as easily as it had
burned a hole in the tree-house roof.
Lightning flashed, and the very earth shook with a
supersonic rumble. For a second they could see through the
dome and directly into the night sky. The black box began to
emit a strange beeping noise.
 Carlos and Evie scrambled back inside, and Carlos picked
up the box. It was making a sound neither of them had ever
heard before.
And for a brief moment, there was something on the
television in the room, which had burst to life all of a sudden.
“Look!” Evie cried.
The screen was flashing with so many different scenes it
was dizzying. For a moment they saw a talking dog (Carlos
screamed at the sight); then it switched to a pair of twins who
were nothing alike (one was boyish and athletic and the other
was sort of a diva, and they both sort of looked like Mal,
except with yellow hair); then it switched again to two teenage
boys who seemed to be running a hospital for superheroes.
“Look at all these different television shows!” Carlos said.
“I knew it! I knew it! I knew there had to be other kinds!”
Evie laughed. Then the screen flickered and went dark
again, and the box in Carlos’s hands went dead. “What
happened?”
“I don’t know. I think maybe it worked? It penetrated the
dome for a second, didn’t it?” he asked, approaching the box
fearfully and touching it with the end of one finger. It was hot
to the touch, and he pulled his hand away quickly.
“It must have,” Evie said. “That’s the only explanation.”
“Promise you won’t tell anyone about what happened,
especially about the dome. We could get in real trouble, you
know.”
“I promise,” said Evie, making an X with her fingers
behind her back.
“Good.”
“You want to go back to the party?”
“Do we have to?” she asked, unwilling to find herself
trapped in another closet.
“You have a point. And that show you like on Auradon
News Network, the one that features the Prince of the Week, is
going to be on in five minutes.”
“Excellent!”
Unbeknown to the two villain children, far off in the
distance, deep in the heart of the forbidden fortress, hidden
behind a gray misty fog on the other side of the island, a long
black scepter with a jewel on its end came back to life,
glowing green with power again. The most powerful weapon
of darkness had been awakened for a moment.
Next to the hidden staff, a stone statue of a raven began to
vibrate, and when the bird began to shake its wings, the stone
crumbled into dust, and in its place was that black-eyed fiend,
that wicked fairy’s familiar, the one and only Diablo,
Maleficent’s best and first friend.
Diablo shook his feathers and gave a throaty, triumphant
cry. Evil would fly again.
Evil lives.…
Ben nervously fiddled with the beast-head ring on his finger
as he waited for the Council members to come in and take
their seats around the king’s conference table later that
morning. His father’s advice rang in his ear. Keep a strong
hand. Show ’em who’s king.
He flexed his own fingers, thinking of his father’s fist. His
father didn’t mean it literally, but Ben was worried
nonetheless. He supposed he would just have to improvise.
“Ready, sire?” Lumiere asked.
Ben took a breath and tried to sound as serious as possible.
“Yes, let them in, thank you.”
Lumiere bowed. Even though it had been a long time since
he had been enchanted and turned into a candelabrum, there
was something about him that still resembled one, and for a
moment, Ben could easily imagine two small flames flickering
on his outstretched palms.
Lumiere knows who he is—and he’s happy being Lumiere.
Is it really so much more complicated to be a king than a
candelabrum?
The thought was, for a moment, comforting to Ben. But
then the Council entered the room—and he found there was
nothing comforting about the sudden sight of the royal
advisors.
In fact, they’re pretty terrifying, Ben thought.
He didn’t know why. They were chatting amiably enough,
discussing last night’s Tourney scores and whose Fantasy
Tourney League was winning. Seats were taken, gossip
exchanged, goblets of spiced cider passed around, as well as a
plate or two of the castle kitchen’s sugar cookies.
Representing the sidekicks were the usual seven dwarfs,
still wearing their mining clothes and stocking hats. Seated
next to the dwarfs (or rather, sitting along the edge of a book
of Auradon’s Civic Rules & Regulations that lay on the table
nearest them, because they were much too small to take any
seat at all) were the very same mice who had helped
Cinderella win her prince—wily Jaq, chubby Gus, and sweet
Mary. The rodent portion of the advisory board tended to
speak in small, squeaky tones that could be hard for Ben to
understand without the communicator in his ear, which
translated everything that the animals said in the meeting.
Everyone at the table was wearing one of the clever
hearing devices, one of the few magical inventions allowed in
the kingdom. The mice’s squeaks, the Dalmatian’s barks, and
Flounder’s burbling were all translated so that they could be
understood.
Beyond the mice, a few of Ariel’s sisters (Ben could never
remember which was which, especially as their names all
started with A) and Flounder splashed along in their own
copper bathtub, wheeled in by a very unhappy Cogsworth,
who grimaced every time the slightest bit of water sloshed
over the edge.
“Mind the splashing, please! I only just had this floor
mopped. You do know this isn’t a beach resort, do you not?
Precisely. It’s a council meeting. A rrrrroyal council,” the
former clock trumpeted, rolling his r’s with great fanfare.
Andrina—or was it Adella?—only laughed and flicked him
with her great, wet fins.
 Rounding out the other side of the table were the three
“good” fairies, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather, looking
apple-cheeked and cheery in their green, red, and blue hats and
capes, seated next to the famed blue Genie of Agrabah. They
were comparing vacation notes. The fairies were partial to the
forest meadows while the genie preferred the vast deserts.
“I guess we should get started?” Ben ventured, clearing his
throat.
No one seemed to hear him. The mice roared with
laughter, falling onto their backs and rolling across the
Auradonian law book. Even Pongo and Perdita of the freed De
Vil Dalmatian contingent joined in the laughter with a little
lively barking. All told, it was a friendly group, or so it
seemed. Ben began to relax.
And why shouldn’t he? Unlike the infamous villains
trapped on the Isle of the Lost, the good citizens of Auradon
looked as if the last twenty years hadn’t aged them one bit.
Ben had to admit it: every one of the royal councilors looked
just like they had in the photographs he had studied of the
founding of Auradon. The mice were still small and cute, the
Dalmatians sleek and handsome. The mermaids—whatever
their names—remained as fresh as water lilies, and the good
fairies burst with good health. Even the infamous Genie of
Agrabah had toned down his usual hyper-manic performance.
Dopey was still his mute, charming self, and while Doc may
have had a few more white hairs than before in his beard,
Grumpy looked almost cheerful.
Except for one thing—
“What—no cream cakes?” Grumpy grabbed a sugar
cookie, glaring at the plate.
“It’s a meeting, not a party,” Doc said, harrumphing.
“Well, it’s certainly not a party now,” Grumpy said,
examining a cookie. “There isn’t even a currant or a chocolate
chip? What, are we discussing budget problems today?”
“As I was saying,” Ben interrupted, moving the plate of
cookies away from Grumpy, “welcome, welcome, everyone. I
hereby declare this meeting of the King’s Council officially
open. Shall we begin?” asked Ben.
Heads nodded around the table.
Ben glanced down at the notecards he had hidden beneath
his right hand. Hopefully, he was doing this correctly.
He coughed. “Excellent. Well, then.”
“Don’t we need to wait for your dad, kid?” Genie asked,
putting his feet up on the table. Now that magic was
discouraged in Auradon, the genie had taken physical form
and was no longer a floating cloud.
“Yeah. Where’s King Beast?” Flounder piped up.
“Isn’t your father joining us today, Ben?” Perdita asked,
gently.
Color crept into Ben’s face. “No, sorry. My dad—I mean,
King Beast—has uh, asked me to run the meeting this
morning.”
Everyone stared. The mice sat up. Grumpy let the cookie
drop.
“Anyway.” Ben cleared his throat and tried to affect a
confidence he did not feel. “On to business.” He was stalling.
He looked at the stack of papers in front of him. Petitions
and letters and applications and motions, from sidekicks from
every corner of the kingdom…
Show them who is king. That’s what my father said.
He tried again. “In my role as future king of Auradon, I’ve
studied your petitions, and while I appreciate your
suggestions, I’m afraid that…”
“Our petitions? Are you talking about the Sidekicks Act?”
Grumpy sounded annoyed.
“Er, yes, I’m afraid that we cannot recommend granting
these petitions as…”
“Who’s we?” asked Mary.
Dopey looked confused.
 “I guess, I mean me? What I mean to say is, I’ve taken
your suggestions for change but it doesn’t look like they can
be approved as…”
One of the mermaids tilted her head. “Not approved? Why
not?”
Ben became flustered. “Well, because I…”
Doc shook his head. “I’m sorry, son, but have you ever
even set foot outside this castle? What do you know about the
whole kingdom? For instance, our goblin cousins on the Isle of
the Lost would like forgiveness—they’ve been exiled for a
long time.”
All around the table, the councilors began to murmur in
low tones. Ben knew the meeting had taken a turn for the
worse, and he desperately began to review his options. There
was nothing on his notecards about what to do in the case of
council revolt.
One. What would my dad do?
Two. What would my mom do?
Three. Could I run for it? What would that do?
Ben was still evaluating option number three when
Grumpy spoke up. “If I may interrupt,” Grumpy said, looking
the exact opposite of, well, Merry, who sat next to him. “As
you know, for twenty years we dwarfs have worked the mines,
gathering jewels and diamonds for the kingdom’s crowns and
scepters, for many a prince and princess in need of wedding
gifts or coronation attire.” Ben turned even redder, looking at
the polished gold buttons on his own shirt. Grumpy glared at
him pointedly, then continued. “And for twenty years we have
been paid zilch for our efforts.”
“Now, now, Mr. Grumpy,” said Ben. “Sir.”
“It’s just Grumpy,” huffed Grumpy.
Ben looked at the mice. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” said Gus, hopping down.
 Ben pulled the Auradon law book free from beneath the
mice, sending a few rodents rolling. He turned to a chart in the
appendices at the back of the thick book. “Okay, then,
Grumpy, as a citizen of Auradon, it looks like you and the rest
of the dwarfs have been granted two-month vacations…twenty
holidays…and unlimited sick days.” He looked up. “Does that
sound right?”
“More or less,” Doc said. Grumpy folded his arms with
another glare.
Ben looked relieved, closing the book. “So you can’t say
you’ve been working for exactly twenty years, can you?”
“The math is beside the point, young man—or should I call
you, young beast?” Grumpy shouted from behind Doc, who
was doing his best to shove his own stocking cap into
Grumpy’s mouth.
“Prince Ben will do,” Ben said, with a thin smile. No
wonder the dwarf was called Grumpy; Ben had never met such
a cantankerous person!
“If I can interject, and I don’t mean to offend, but we’re a
bit tired of being without a voice and without a contract.”
Bashful spoke up. At least, Ben thought that was his name, if
only from how red he turned as he spoke.
“You’re here now, aren’t you? I don’t believe you can call
that being ‘without a voice,’ can you?” Ben smiled again. Two
for two. Boom. Maybe I’m better at this king stuff than I
thought.
“But what will happen to our families when we retire?”
Bashful asked, not looking convinced.
“I’m sure my father has a plan to take care of everyone,”
Ben said, hoping it was true.
A voice squeaked up from the table. Ben leaned forward to
listen. “And has anyone noticed that we sidekicks do all the
work in this kingdom? Since the Fairy Godmother frowns on
magic, we mice make all the dresses!” Mary said indignantly.
The little mouse had climbed back up on the law book to make
herself heard. “By paw!”
 “That’s very—” Ben began, but he was cut off. He was no
longer in charge of the room. That much was clear.
“Not to mention the woodland creatures who do all the
housekeeping for Snow White,” added Jaq. “They aren’t too
happy about it, either.”
Mary nodded. “Plus, Snow White needs a whole new
wardrobe as she’s reporting on the Coronation soon! Your
coronation, I might add!”
Ben searched desperately through the papers in front of
him. “Every citizen has the right to file—to file a—”
“I still collect everything for Ariel,” burbled Flounder.
“Her treasures have grown, but what do I have to show for any
of it?”
Ben tried again. “You have the knowledge that what you
do is a very much appreciated—”
Flounder kept going. “And the mermaids give undersea
tours all year round without taking a penny. Even in the busy
season!”
Ariel’s sisters nodded indignantly, their shimmering tails
splashing water all over the table from the bathtub. Cogsworth
slapped a hand over his eyes, while Lumiere squeezed his arm
in support.
Ben nodded. “Well, that is certainly something worth
further consid—”
“And if I might add, living without magic has taken a toll
on our nerves,” sighed Merryweather. “Flora can’t sew, Fauna
can’t bake, and I can’t clean without our wands. You’ll find
our petition at the end there, dear boy.” Flora shoved it into
Prince Ben’s face, and he sat back in his chair, surprised.
Fauna chimed in. “While we appreciate all that the Fairy
Godmother has done, we can’t see why just a little magic
might not be useful?”
“But is there really any such thing as a little—” Ben began.
Pongo sat up. “And not to sound weary, but Perdy and I
are a bit fatigued after caring for one hundred and one
Dalmatians,” said Pongo in that rich, elegant voice of his.
“If only there were one hundred and one hours in the day.”
Perdy yawned. “I could at least sleep for five of them. Imagine
that.”
Mary the mouse nodded sympathetically, patting Perdy’s
paw with her own.
A blur of blue appeared in Ben’s face. “To put it bluntly,
Prince Ben, this blows,” said Genie, who blew him a mocking
kiss.
The dwarfs applauded wildly.
Ariel’s sisters tittered, and now the water in the tub was
roiling like a small tsunami. Cogsworth left the chamber in a
huff, and even Lumiere motioned for Prince Ben to cut the
meeting short.
If only Ben knew how.
The room began to dissolve into absolute chaos, as the
sidekicks and dwarfs began to shout at one another, while the
good fairies kept on complaining about the back-breaking
work even ordinary chores now entailed, and all the rest of the
company advocated for relief from their own grievances.
It was hard to pick out one from the next, Ben thought, as
he slunk down in his chair, trying not to panic.
Breathe, he told himself. Breathe, and think.
But it was impossible to think amid the ruckus in the room.
The mermaids complained that the tourists left their trash
everywhere; the dwarfs whined that no one liked to whistle
while they worked anymore; Pongo and Perdita barked about
the stress of having to pay for one hundred and one college
educations; and even Genie looked bluer than usual.
Ben covered his ears. This wasn’t a meeting anymore. It
was an all-out brawl. He had to shut it down, before people
started throwing things—or mice.
What would my father do? What does he expect me to do?
How could he put me in this situation and expect me to know
what to do?
 The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Finally,
Ben stood up. No one cared.
He climbed on top of his chair—and still nobody noticed
him.
That’s it!
His father told him to be kingly, and kings were heard!
“ENOUGH!” he yelled from the top of the table. “THIS
MEETING IS ADJOURNED!”
A shocked silence filled the room.
Ben just stood there.
“Why! I never…” growled Perdy. “How rude! To speak to
us in such a way!”
“Impertinent and ungrateful, that’s for certain,” sniffed
Flora.
“Why, that does it!” said Grumpy. “Where’s King Beast?
We’re not deaf! Don’t you know your manners, son?”
“My word, we’ve never been treated so poorly!”
Merryweather fluttered.
The dwarfs and sidekicks left the room, shooting Ben wary
glances as they filed out. The mermaids huffed and made a
point of sloshing water on the floor, as Lumiere was left to
drag them away, shaking his head. The mice turned their noses
up as they walked past without so much as a squeak; the
Dalmatians held their tails high; and even Dopey gave the
prince a silent, hurt look.
Ben hung his head, embarrassed by his actions. He had
tried to lead like his father, and he had failed. He hadn’t been
able to table the petition, and he hadn’t been able to inspire
confidence in the King’s Council. If anything, he had made the
situation worse.
Which is why I would make a terrible king, Ben thought,
as he climbed down from his father’s council room table.
He hadn’t proven himself.
 He’d only proven one thing—
That Prince Ben wasn’t fit to the wear the royal beast-head
ring that was currently on his finger.
Mal was standing alone in the corner, nursing her spicy
cider, when she noticed two figures trying to sneak their way
toward the buffet table to grab a couple of cans of expired
sodas. It was Carlos, of course, and Princess Blueberry. Evie
didn’t look any worse for wear after spending time in Cruella’s
closet. She wasn’t even bleeding! There wasn’t a scratch on
her or even a run in her stocking. Ugh. Carlos must have
helped her somehow, the ungrateful little twerp.
Mal sighed.
Foiled again.
Just like her mother, whose own curse had failed.
Were they destined for failure forever?
This party was a bust. It was definitely time to go. Even
the evil step-granddaughters looked tired of pretending to hate
being chased by the rowdy pirates.
Mal tossed her empty cider cup on the floor and left
without a backward glance. She spent the night rearranging
her neighbors’ overgrown lawns, swapping lawn gnomes,
mailboxes, and outdoor furniture. She amused herself doing
some light redecorating by toilet-papering a couple of houses
and egging a few rickshaws. Nothing like a little property
damage to make her feel better. She left her mark on each
house with the message Evil lives! spray-painted on the lawn,
to remind the island people exactly what they stood for and
what they had to be proud of.
Feeling as if she had salvaged the evening, it was with
some surprise and not a little shock that when she rolled home
to the Bargain Castle, she found her mother awake and
awaiting her.
“Mother!” Mal yelped, startled to see Maleficent sitting on
her huge high-backed green chair in front of the stained-glass
window. It was her throne, as it were—her seat of darkness.
“Hello, dear,” Maleficent’s cold voice said. “Do you know
what time it is, young lady?”
Mal was confused. Since when had Maleficent imposed a
curfew? It wasn’t as if her mother cared where she went or
when she came home, now—did she? After all, the woman
wasn’t called Maleficent for nothing. “Two in the morning?”
Mal finally guessed.
“I thought so,” Maleficent said, pushing up a purple sleeve
and correcting the time on her wristwatch. She pulled the
sleeve down and looked at her daughter.
Mal waited, wondering where this was going. She hadn’t
seen her mother in a while, and when they did come in
contact, Mal was often taken aback by how small her mother
looked, these days.
The Mistress of Darkness had literally shrunk with the
reduction in her circumstances. Whereas once she had been
towering, she was now almost a miniature version of her
former self—petite, even. If she stood up, one could see that
Mal was taller than she was by a few inches.
Yet the distinctive menace had not abated, it just came in a
tinier package. “Where was I? Oh yes, Evil lives!” Maleficent
hissed.
“Evil lives—exactly, Mother.” Mal nodded. “Is that what
you want to talk to me about? The tags around town? Pretty
good, right?”
 “No, you misunderstand me, dear,” her mother said, and it
was then that Mal noticed that her mother was not alone. She
was petting a black raven that was perched on the arm of her
chair.
The raven croaked, flew to Mal’s shoulder, and nipped her
ear.
“Ouch!” she said. “Stop that!”
“That’s just Diablo. Don’t be jealous my little friend; that’s
just Mal,” Maleficent said dismissively. And even if Mal knew
that her mother couldn’t care less about her (Mal tried not to
take it personally, as her mother couldn’t care less about
anyone), it still stung to hear it said aloud so bluntly.
“Diablo? That’s Diablo?” said Mal. She knew all about
Diablo, Maleficent’s first and only friend. Her mother had told
her the story many times: how, twenty years ago, now,
Maleficent had battled Prince Phillip as a great black fiery
dragon but had been struck down, betrayed, by a weapon of
justice and peace that some irritatingly good fairies had helped
aim right into her heart. Maleficent had believed herself dead
and passed from this world, but instead she had woken up the
next day, alone and broken, on this terrible island.
The only remnant of the battle was the scar on her chest
where the sword had struck, and every so often she would feel
the phantom pain of that wound. She had told Mal many times
how, when she woke up, she had realized that those awful
good fairies had taken everything away from her—her castle,
her home, even her favorite pet raven.
“The one and only Diablo,” purred Maleficent, actually
looking happy for once.
“But how? He was frozen! They turned him into stone!”
said Mal.
“Yes, they did, those horrid little beasts. But he’s back!
He’s back! And Evil lives!” Maleficent declared, with a
witch’s cackle for good measure.
Okay. Her mother was getting just a wee bit repetitive.
 Mal gave her mother her best eye-roll. To the rest of the
fools, minions, and morons on the island, Maleficent was the
scariest thing with two horns around; but to Mal, who had seen
her mother put goblin jelly on toast and drop crumbs all over
the couch, polish her horns with shoe polish, and sew the
raggedy hemline of her purple cape, she was just her mother,
and Mal wasn’t that scared of her. Okay, so she was still
scared of her mother, but she wasn’t like Carlos-scared.
Maleficent stood from her chair, her green eyes blazing
into Mal’s identical ones. “My Dragon’s Eye—my scepter of
darkness—Diablo says it has been awakened! Evil lives!—and
best of all, it is on this island!”
“Your scepter? Are you sure?” Mal asked skeptically.
“Hard to believe King Beast of Auradon would leave such an
impressive weapon on the Isle.”
“Diablo swears he saw it, didn’t you, my sweet?”
Maleficent purred. The raven cawed.
“So where is it?” asked Mal.
“Well, I don’t speak Raven, do I? It’s on this blasted piece
of rock somewhere!” Maleficent fumed, tossing her cape back.
“Okay, then. But so what?”
“So what?! The Dragon’s Eye is back! Evil lives! It means
I can have my powers back!”
“Not with the dome still up,” Mal pointed out.
“It doesn’t matter. I thought those three despicably good
fairies had destroyed it, but they had only frozen it, like they
had Diablo. It is alive, it is out there somewhere, and best of
all—you—my dear—will get it for me!” Maleficent
announced with a flourish.
“Me?”
“Yes. Don’t you want to prove yourself to me? Prove that
you are worthy of being my daughter?” her mother asked
quietly.
Mal didn’t answer.
 “You know how much you are a disappointment to me,
how when I was your age, I had armies of goblins under my
control, but you…what do you do—put your little drawings all
over town? You need to do MORE!” she seethed, standing up
from her chair. Diablo flapped his wings and cawed in
agreement.
Mal tried not to show her feelings. She’d thought those
tags were pretty cool. “Fine! Fine! I’ll go get your scepter!”
she agreed, if only to stop her mother from raging.
“Wonderful.” Maleficent touched her heart, or the hole in
her chest where it should have been. “When that sword pierced
my dragon hide, and I fell off that cliff twenty years ago, I was
sure I had died. But they brought me back to suffer a fate
worse than death, much worse. But one day, I will have my
revenge!”
Mal nodded. She’d heard the spiel so many times, she
could chant it in her sleep. Maleficent took her hand, and they
chorused, “Revenge on the fools who imprisoned us on this
cursed island!”
Maleficent urged Mal closer so that she could whisper a
warning in her ear.
“Yes, Mother,” said Mal, to show she understood.
Maleficent grinned. “Now, get out of here and bring it
back, so we can be free of this floating prison once and for
all!”
Mal trudged up to her room. She’d forgotten to tell her
mother about the mean trick she’d pulled on Evie at the party,
not that it would have been evil enough for the great
Maleficent, either. Nothing was. Why did she even bother?
She climbed out her window and onto the balcony where
could see across the entire island and the shining spires of
Auradon glimmered in the distance.
A few minutes later, she heard the sound of jiggling
trinkets, which meant Jay had dropped by to annoy her or to
steal a late-night snack.
“I’m out here,” she called.
 “You left before the fun really began,” he said, meaning
the party. “We turned the ballroom into a mosh pit and crowd-
surfed.” He joined her on the balcony, a bag of smelly cheese
curls in his hand.
She shrugged.
“What’s with the rude raven?” he asked, chomping noisily
on the snack, his fingers turning a fluorescent shade of orange.
“That’s Diablo. You know, my mom’s old familiar. He’s
back.”
Jay stopped chewing. “He’s what?”
“He’s back. He got unfrozen. So now Mom thinks the spell
over the island might be unraveling, somehow.”
Jay’s eyes grew wide.
Mal looked away and continued, “That’s not all. Diablo
swears the Dragon’s Eye is back too. That he saw it glow back
to life. You know, her scepter, her greatest weapon, the one
that controls all the forces of evil and darkness, blah blah blah.
She wants me to find it, and use it to break the curse over the
island.”
Jay let out a loud laugh. “Well, she’s really gone off the
cliff into the deep end to take a swim with the killer alligators,
then, hasn’t she? That thing is hidden forever and ever, and
ever and ever and—”
“Ever?” Mal smirked.
“Exactly.”
Mal turned away, wanting to change the subject. “Do you
ever think about what it’s like over there?” she asked, nodding
toward Auradon.
Jay scoffed. “Yeah, horrible. Sunny, and happy, and…
horrible. I thank my unlucky stars every day that I’m not
there.”
“Yeah, I know. But, I mean—you never get sick of this
place, like you want a change?” she asked, brooding.
Jay looked at her quizzically.
 “Never mind.” Mal didn’t think he would understand. She
continued staring into the night. Jay continued munching on
his cheese curls and fiddling with some newly stolen costume
jewelry.
A memory came flooding back to Mal. She was five years
old and was in the marketplace with her mother when a goblin
tripped and fell, spilling his basket of fruit everywhere.
Without thinking, she had started picking up the fruit, helping
the goblin gather it all. One by one, she picked up the apples,
dusted them off on her dress, and placed them back in the
basket. Suddenly Mal looked up from where she was
crouched. The market had gone silent, and everyone, including
her mother, who was rotten-apple red and fuming, was staring
at her.
“Get up this instant,” her mother had hissed. Maleficent
kicked the basket, and the apples all fell out again.
Mal obeyed. When they got back home, her mother locked
her in her room to think about what she had done. “If you’re
not careful, my girl, you’ll end up just like him—just like your
father—weak and powerless. AND PATHETIC!” Maleficent
had bellowed through the locked door.
Little Mal had stared into the dingy mirror leaning
precariously on her vanity. Fighting back tears, she vowed
never to disappoint her mother again.
“We have to find it,” Mal said to Jay as an icy wind whipped
up from the sea below and pulled her from her memory. “The
Dragon’s Eye. It’s here.”
“Mal, it’s not poss—”
“We have to,” Mal said.
“Eh,” Jay replied shrugging his shoulders and turning
toward the window to go back inside. “We’ll see.”
Mal took one last look out at the horizon to the bright,
sparkling speck in the distance. She felt a pang in her gut, like
longing. But what for, she couldn’t say.
 “Miserable,
darling, as
usual, perfectly
wretched.”
—Cruella De Vil,
101 Dalmatians
Jay left the Bargain Castle behind him. It was the very end of
night, the time when it was just turning toward morning—
when it was still dark, but you could already hear the mournful
call of the vultures scavenging their way across the island. He
shivered, retracing his steps through the grim backstreets and
alleyways of the town, past the eerily bare trees and broken-
shuttered buildings that looked as abandoned and hopeless as
everyone who lived there.
Jay quickened his pace. He wasn’t scared of the dark; he
depended on it. Jay did some of his best work at night. He’d
never get used to the way the island felt in the darkness,
though. Jay picked up on it most when everyone else was
asleep, and he could see the world around him clearly, for
what it was. He could see that this town and this island and
these bare trees and these broken shutters were his life, no
matter what other life his father and his peers had known.
There was no glory here. No magic and no power, either. This
was it—all they would ever have or be or know.
No matter what Mal thinks.
Jay kicked a rock across the crumbling cobblestones, and
an irritated cat howled back at him from the shadows.
She’s so full of it.
 Mal wouldn’t admit it—their defeat—especially not when
she was in a mood like tonight. Mal was so stubborn
sometimes. Practically delusional. In moments like these, Jay
had clearly seen the effects of a raised-by-a-maniacal-villain
upbringing. He couldn’t blame Mal for not wanting to tell her
mother no—nobody would—but really, there was no way that
Maleficent’s scepter was somewhere on the Isle of the Lost,
and even if it was, Jay and Mal would never find it.
Jay shook his head.
Eye of the Dragon? More like, Eye of Desperation.
That raven is bonkers, probably from being frozen for
twenty years.
He shrugged and rounded the corner to his own street. He
tried to forget about it, half-expecting (and half-hoping) Mal
would probably do the same. She had her whims, but they
never seemed to last. That was the good thing about Mal; she
would get all worked up about something, but totally drop it
the next day. They got along because Jay had learned to just
ride out the storm.
When he finally made his way through the last of the
puzzle of stolen locks, chains, and deadbolts that guarded his
own house (thieves being the most paranoid about burglary),
he pushed the rotting wooden door open with a creak and crept
inside.
One foot at a time. Shift your body weight as you step.
Stick close to the wall….
“Jay? Is that you?”
Crap.
His father was still awake, cooking eggs, his faithful
parrot, Iago, on his shoulder. Was Jafar worried about his only
son being out so late? Was he worried about where he’d been,
or who he’d been with, or why he hadn’t come home until
now?
Nah. His father had only one thing on his mind, and Jay
knew exactly what it was.
 “What’s tonight’s haul?” Jafar asked greedily, as he set his
plate of food down on the kitchen table, next to a pile of rusty
coins that passed for currency on the island. The table was
where Jafar practiced his favorite hobby: counting his money.
There was a good-sized pyramid of coins on the table, but Jay
knew it wouldn’t satisfy Jafar’s greed.
Nothing did.
“Nice pajamas.” Jay smirked. The trick with his father was
to keep moving, to stay on your toes, and above all else, to
avoid answering the question, because none of the answers
were ever right. When you couldn’t win, you shouldn’t give in
and play. That was just setting yourself up for disaster.
I mean, my dad’s best friend is a parrot.
Enough said.
“Nice pajamas!” Iago squawked. “Nice pajamas!”
Jafar was wearing a faded bathrobe over saggy pajamas
with little lamps printed all over them. If twenty years of being
frozen could turn a raven cuckoo, twenty years of life among
the lost had done just as much to diminish the former Grand
Vizier of Agrabah’s infamy, along with his grandeur and
panache (at least, that was how his father thought of it). Gone
were the sumptuous silks and plush velvet jackets, replaced by
a uniform of ratty velour sweat suits and sweat-stained
undershirts that smelled a little too strongly of their shop’s
marketplace stand, which was located, rather unfortunately
and quite directly across from the horse stalls.
The sleek black beard was now raggedy and gray, and
there was the aforementioned gut. Iago had taken to calling
him “the sultan,” since Jafar now resembled his old adversary
in size; although, in all fairness, Iago himself looked like he
was on a daily cracker binge.
In return, Jafar called his feathered pal things that were
unrepeatable by any standard, even a parrot’s.
Jay hated his father’s pajamas: they were a sign of how far
their once royalty-adjacent family had fallen. The flannel was
worn so thin in places you could see Jafar’s belly roll beneath
it. Jay tried not to look too closely, even now, in the shadows
of the early morning light.
His father ignored the pajama insults. He’d heard them all
before. He wolfed down his midnight snack with relish
without offering Jay a bite. “Come on, come on, get on with it.
What’d we get? Let’s have a look.”
Jay eyed his carpet roll at the end of the room, beyond the
table—but he also knew there was no way of getting past his
father now. He reluctantly unpacked his pockets. “Broken
glass slipper, got it from one of the step-granddaughters. With
some glue, we could get a good price for it.” The cracked,
heel-less slipper shattered into a pile of glass shards the
moment it hit the table. Jafar raised an eyebrow.
“Um, superglue?” Jay kept going. “One of Lucifer’s
collars, Rick Ratcliffe’s pistol keychain—and look, a real glass
eye!” It was covered in lint. “It’s only a little used. I got it
from one of the pirates.” He held it up to his own eye and
peered through the glass—then jerked it away, wrinkling his
nose and fanning his face with his hand. “Why don’t pirates
ever bathe? Hello, it’s called a shower. It’s not like they’re
even out at sea anymore.” With that, he rolled the eyeball
across the table to his father.
Iago squawked curiously while Jay waited for the
inevitable.
Jafar waved a dismissive hand over the items and sighed.
“Garbage.”
“Garbage!” Iago shrieked. “Garbage!”
“But that’s all there is on this island,” Jay argued, leaning
against the kitchen sink. “This is the Isle of the Lost, the Isle
of the Leftovers, remember?”
His father frowned. “You went to the De Vil place, and you
didn’t score a fur coat? What were you doing in there all
night? Slobbering over Maleficent’s girl?”
Jay rolled his eyes. “For the ten-thousandth time, no. And
it’s not like I was the one locked in the coat closet.” As he said
it, he wondered why he hadn’t thought of that.
 “You need to try harder! What about that princess? The
one who’s just come out of the castle?”
“Oh yeah, her. I forgot.” Jay dug into his jeans pocket and
brought out a silver necklace with a red poisoned-apple charm
on it. “That’s all she had on her. I’m telling you, even the
castles around this place are dumps.”
Jafar put on a pair of spectacles and examined the jewelry,
squinting first with one eye, then with the other. His eyesight
was going, and his back ached from the extra work of carrying
around his own sweatsuited belly; even villains were not
spared the perils of aging. “Paste and glass. In my day, a
servant wouldn’t have worn that, let alone a princess. Not
quite the big score we’re looking for.” He tossed the bauble
aside, sighing as he stopped to feed Iago another cracker.
“Score,” said Iago, gleefully spitting cracker crumbs. “Big
Score!”
Jay’s shoulders slumped.
The big score.
It was his father’s dream: that one day his only son would
find a cachet of loot so big, so rich, so laden with gold, that
Jafar would no longer have to preside over a junk shop, ever
again. No matter that the Isle of the Lost was a floating
rubbish heap; somehow Jafar believed the big score was
always right around the corner—a bounty that could transport
him back to his rightful place as a sorcerer, with all its power
and trappings.
Talk about delusional.
Even if it did exist, could such a treasure take any of them
back in time to a better day, or free them from a lifetime of
imprisonment? As if an object or a jewel or any amount of
gold coins could fix the mess that people like Jafar had gotten
them all into, in the first place?
The big score. His father was as crazy as Mal had been
tonight. Jay shook his head.
And then he just shook. Because he’d thought of
something.
 Hang on.
What had Mal told him tonight? That the raven believed
Maleficent’s scepter, the Dragon’s Eye, was hidden
somewhere on this island? If Diablo was telling the truth, and
Jay was able to find it, it would be the biggest score of the
year. Of the century! He thought it through. Was it possible?
Could it be that easy? Could his father have been right to hold
on to the faintest hope for something better, even after all these
years?
Nah.
Jay rubbed his eyes. It had been a long night. There was no
way that thing was on the Isle of the Lost. There was nothing
of power here—not when it came to people, and not when it
came to their stuff.
And even if it was here—however unlikely that might be
—the dome over the island kept out all magic out. The
Dragon’s Eye was just a fancy name for a walking stick now.
Like he’d told Mal, it was a useless enterprise. They were
better off trying to hijack a boat out of the Goblin Wharf back
to Auradon. Not that any of them would want to live there.
Maybe we belong on the Isle of the Lost, Leftover, and
Forgotten. Maybe that’s how this story is supposed to go.
Only, who’s going to break the news to my dad?
Jay watched as his father returned to stacking the coins in
neat piles. Counting coins gave him peace in some way his son
would never understand. Jafar was whistling, and looked up
when he saw Jay staring at him.
“Remember the Golden Rule?” his father purred as he
caressed the money with his hands.
“Totally. ’Night, Dad,” Jay said, heading to the worn
carpet underneath the shelves in the back, where he slept.
Whoever has the most gold makes the rules. It’s what his
father believed, and while Jay had never seen any gold in his
life, he’d been taught to believe it too.
He just wasn’t sure that he believed there was any gold to
find. Not on the Isle of the Lost. Still, as he curled up on the
hard bit of carpeted floor that was his bed, he tried to imagine
what it would feel like to find it.
The Big Score.
He fell asleep dreaming of his father bursting with pride in
a pair of pajamas made of gold.
Cruella was going to kill him if she ever found out he’d
thrown a party while she was away. People on the island kept
telling him Cruella had mellowed with age, that she was
rounder and less shouty, but they didn’t have to live with her.
Cruella De Vil’s son knew his mother better than anyone.
If his mother had any idea that he’d let a bunch of people
come over…and even worse, let anyone even come near her
fur closet—let alone inside it—let alone be tackled in a pile of
full-length grade-A–pelt coats—well, let’s just say it wouldn’t
be a puppy she would be trying to skin.
But thankfully his mother was still at the Spa and hadn’t
returned unexpectedly as she was wont to do sometimes, if
only to keep her son and Jasper and Horace on their minion-y
toes.
Carlos stumbled out of bed and found a few bleary-eyed
guests wandering around Hell Hall, smelling like last night’s
spicy cider. “You’re probably looking for the bathroom. This
way. No problem!” He shoved them out the front door before
they could realize what was happening. As he did, Harry and
Jace, the two young, second-generation De Vil minions who
had helped him decorate for the party, stumbled out of the
ballroom with crepe paper in their hair.
 “’Morning,” said Carlos, his voice still froggy with sleep.
“Why are you wearing the party?”
“I told him not to get me tangled up in his stupid
streamers,” Harry said, still surly.
“You told me? You were the one playing tag all night,
dragging half the decorations around after you.”
“I was entertaining guests.”
“Then why was no one playing with you?”
As usual, there was no hope of real conversation with
either of them. Carlos gave up.
His cousin Diego De Vil gave him a thumbs-up from the
couch. “Great party. Total howler!” The rest of the band was
packing up their gear.
“Thanks, I think.” Carlos wrinkled his nose. The gloomy
morning light made everything look sadder and more sordid.
Even the chandelier’s candles had burnt down to stubs, and
someone had broken the rope swing so that it swayed gently,
brushing the floor.
“We’d better get out of here so you can clean up.” Diego
grinned. “Or did your mom say to leave it for her to do when
she got home?” He burst out laughing.
“Very funny.” Carlos ignored his cousin, pushing his way
through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. He was
hungry, his head hurt, and he hadn’t slept well—dreaming
anxiously of keeping the party a secret from his mother, but
also of the dazzling light that had emanated from his machine
and hit the dome.
Did that really happen?
For a moment there, Carlos thought he had felt something
in the air. Something wild and electric and thrumming with
energy. Magic? Could it be?
He wondered if he could make the machine do it again.
After breakfast.
 He poked his head into the kitchen, which looked like a
party bomb had exploded. Every counter and surface was
sticky and littered with cups, bowls, bits of popcorn and chips,
rotten deviled eggs, uneaten devil dogs, and empty bottles of
cider. His feet stuck and unstuck with every step on the floor,
ripping up and down with a noise that was part Velcro, part
pseudopod. He took a broom and began to sweep and clean,
just enough so that he could get to the fridge and the shelves.
“Hey, uh, can I just…” Carlos said, pushing a snoring Clay
Clayton away from the kitchen counter to grab his breakfast.
Clay was the son of the Great Hunter who’d almost captured
Tarzan’s gorilla troop (almost being the operative word: like
every villain on the Isle, each one’s evil schemes had
ultimately ended in failure).
Carlos filled a bowl with some congealed, lumpy oatmeal
and grabbed a spoon just as the Gastons stuck their heads
inside.
“Hey, man! What’ve you got there? Breakfast? Don’t mind
if we do.” The burly brothers high-fived him as they stole his
cold porridge from under his nose on their way out the door.
Being the Gastons, they were the last to leave and the first to
steal all the food, as usual.
“I guess I wasn’t hungry anyway,” Carlos said out loud,
although only he was listening. “We should get busy and clean
this place up before my mom gets home.”
He sighed and picked up the broom.
There was way too much to clean. But he was Carlos De
Vil, boy genius, wasn’t he? Surely he could figure out a way to
make this task easier? Yes, he would. He just had to put his
mind to it. He would take care of the cleanup later. First, he
had to go to school.
Back at her own castle, Evie hadn’t been able to sleep any
better than Carlos had. Perhaps her dreams weren’t plagued by
Cruella De Vil or the cracking dome, but they were tormented
by endless mazes of dark rooms and snapping traps—and she
had woken up in a full sweat just as one was about to clamp
down on her leg with its steel jaws again.
 I can’t go back to school, she thought. Not after last night.
The thought of having to face Mal again made her stomach
queasy.
Besides, what was wrong with staying home? Home was,
well, home. Wasn’t it? So maybe it wasn’t nice here, but it was
safe. Relatively. Cozy. In a not-exactly-traditionally-cozy way.
Or not.
Okay, so it was cold and musty and basically a cave. Or a
prison, as she had come to think of it during her years of
castle-schooling. And today, like most days of her life, Evie
could hear her mother talking to herself in her imaginary
Magic Mirror voice again.
But at least at home there were no traps and no purple-
haired wicked fairies angling for revenge. There were no
confusing frenemies, if she and Mal were even that.
I don’t know what we are, but I know I don’t like it.
And here I thought once I got to a real school my life was
going to be so much better.
Evie got up and went to her desk, which had a few of her
old textbooks from her years of castle-schooling. She picked
up her favorite, a worn leather grimoire, the Evil Queen’s
personal spell book.
Of course, it was useless on the Isle, but Evie still liked
reading all the spells. It was like a catalog of her mother’s
finer days, of a time before she spent hour after useless hour
rattling around the empty rooms of the castle doing the Voice.
It made Evie feel better, sometimes. To remember that things
hadn’t always been like this.
She paged through the spell book’s worn yellow pages like
she had when she was a little girl. She had pored over them the
way she imagined the princesses in Auradon pored over their
stupid fairy tales. She studied them the way other princesses
studied, well, other princesses.
There were truth spells involving candles and water, love
spells that called for flower petals and blood, health spells and
wealth spells, spells for luck and spells for doom. Trickster
spells were her favorite, especially the Peddler’s Disguise,
which her mother had used to fool that silly Snow White. That
was a good one.
A classic, even.
“Hi, sweetie,” Evil Queen said, entering her bedroom.
“You’re looking pale again! Let me blush!” She removed a big
round brush and began to work on Evie’s cheeks. “Pink as an
appleblossom. There. Much better.” She looked down at the
book in her daughter’s hand. “Oh, that old thing? I never
understand. Why would you want to get that out again?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I just can’t picture it. I
mean, did you really do this spell? You?” Evie somehow
couldn’t imagine her mother as a frightening old hag. Sure,
she was plump and middle-aged and no longer resembled the
formidable portrait of her that hung in the main gallery, but
she was far from ugly.
“Oh, yes! It was a scream! Snow Why-So-Stupid? was
completely fooled! What a dope.” Evil Queen giggled. “I
mean, hello? Door-to-door apple sales hag? In the middle of
the forest?” She sighed. “Ah. Good times.”
Evie shook her head. “Still.”
Her mother fussed with her hair. “Wait. Why are you here?
Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“I don’t feel like going,” Evie confessed. “I’m not sure it’s
right, after all. Going to a big school. Maybe I should just stay
in the castle.”
Evil Queen shrugged. “Who needs an education anyway?
Pretty is as pretty is—remember that, darling.”
“Don’t worry. You don’t let me forget.”
“It’s attention to the little things. You have to work for it,
and you have to want it. Your eyelashes aren’t going to curl
themselves, you know.”
“Nope. You’re going to curl them for me, even if I don’t
want you to.”
 “That’s right. And why? So that one day you can have
what’s rightfully yours, even if you are stuck on this miserable
island. It is your birthright, to be the Fairest. Of. Them. All.
Those aren’t simply words.”
“I’m pretty sure they are, actually.”
“It’s a responsibility. Ours. Yours, and mine. With great
beauty comes great power.”
Evie just stared. When her mother got like this, it was hard
to talk her down.
“I can’t want this more than you do, Evie.” Her mother
sighed, shaking her head.
“I know,” Evie said, because it was true. “But what am I
supposed to do? What if I don’t know what I want? Or how to
get it?”
“So you try harder. You reapply. You add that extra layer
of gloss over your matte lip stain. You use your blush and your
bronzer, and make sure you don’t confuse the two.”
“Bronzer on the bone, blush on the cheek,” Evie said,
automatically.
“You know which mascara makes your eyes pop.”
“Blue for brown. Green for gold. Purple for blue,” Evie
recited, as if these were her family’s version of math facts.
“Exactly.” Evil Queen clasped her fingers around her
daughter’s in a touching, if rare, maternal gesture. “And
please, my darling girl. Never forget who you really are.”
“Who am I?” Evie said, squeezing her mother’s hand. She
felt so lost—more than anything, it was all she wanted to
know.
“Someone who needs to use elixir on her hair, or it looks
too frizzy.” With those parting words, Evil Queen left the
room, gathering up her dark skirts behind her. “Mirror! Magic
Mirror!”
Yeah, Evie thought, she could stay here, reading her old
books and watching Auradon News Network, just like before.
Later, if she was really lucky, her mother would come into her
room to give her yet another interesting hairstyle, even though
Evie had told her millions of times she preferred the V-braid.
This is my life, when I’m in the castle.
Braiding and blushing and bronzing.
That was the thing about leaving home, she guessed. Once
you’d made your way out into the world, once you’d left the
darkness of the cave, it was hard to go back.
Even to make your hair smooth and your eyes pop.
The more Evie thought about it, the more she knew she
couldn’t stay in the castle one more second. She’d read all the
books and watched all the shows and there was no one to talk
to other than her mother, who was only obsessed with the
latest cosmetics that arrived on the Dumpster barges, the used
tubes of lipstick and opened jars of cream that the Auradon
princesses tossed when they didn’t want them anymore.
Even school has to be better than this.
Besides, she could deal with Mal, couldn’t she? She wasn’t
scared of her.
Not that scared of her.
Okay, so maybe she was. But Evie was more terrified of
rotting in a cave forever. And she was far too young to start
working on her own Magic Mirror voice. She shook her head
at the thought.
Pretty is as pretty is?
Was that what my mother said?
But what was the point of being pretty if there was no one
there to see how pretty you were?
Even the crack on her ceiling was starting to look like the
Dragon’s Eye.
Mal stared up at it from her bed, transfixed. She had
woken up extra early—even earlier than Carlos and Evie—as
she couldn’t sleep, thinking of the quest her mother had all but
immediately dispatched her on. Maleficent was like that: once
she had an idea in her head, there was no stopping her. It
didn’t matter if it was her daughter or one of her minions—she
expected everyone to stop and drop and risk everything to do
her bidding.
That was the Maleficent way.
Mal knew there was no exception made for daughters, not
when you were one of the all-time most villainous villains of
the Isle of the Lost. You didn’t get to be number one by being
merciful, or even reasonable.
Not when you were one of the evil elite.
Maleficent wanted the Dragon’s Eye back, which was
great, and all, and Mal totally got it; but actually trying to find
out where it was on the island—now that was something else
entirely.
So, yeah.
It wasn’t as if Diablo were any help. All the raven did was
caw when Mal poked it. “Where is it, huh, D? If you’re back
to life, then it can’t be far, right? But where?” He’d poke her
eyes out if she got close enough to let him. That stupid bird
had always wanted her mother all to himself; and to him, Mal
wasn’t even a threat as much as a nuisance.
Still, it was more than just a bird that was haunting her
now.
Maleficent’s threats were hard to shake. As always, her
mother knew exactly where to strike. She could find her
daughter’s soft spots as easily now as when she had been a
baby wearing one on the top of her own head.
Don’t you want to prove yourself to me?
Prove that you are worthy of the name I bestowed on you,
Maleficent!
Mal turned over in her hard, squeaky bed, restless.
Yes, Mal was named for her mother, but her mother liked
to say that since Mal had shown so far that she was only a tiny
bit evil, Mal could only have a tiny bit of her real name until
she proved herself truly worthy of her dark fairy heritage.
Which was ridiculous, really, if you thought about it. Mal
didn’t exactly have an army of evil resources at her command.
She made do with what she had to work with—stolen paint
cans, hapless high school kids, a closet full of old mink coats
and fur traps. Sure, maybe she wasn’t encasing whole castles
in hedges of thorns, but then every villain had to start
somewhere, didn’t she?
And if she had let Evie off the hook at the end of the night,
that wasn’t her fault either, was it? It wasn’t like you could put
a time line on this kind of thing. Good scheming took a little
planning, didn’t it?
Mal turned over again.
It was still quiet in the Bargain Castle, which meant
Maleficent hadn’t gone out on the balcony yet to harangue and
humiliate her subjects. When Mal finally slid out of bed,
slithered into today’s purple everything, and tiptoed out of her
bedroom, she noticed that the door to her mother’s room was
locked, which meant Maleficent was not to be disturbed under
any circumstance. She was adamant about getting eight hours
of “evil sleep” and recommended a healthy diet of nightmares
to keep the claws sharp.
It had worked for her so far, hadn’t it?
Mal brooded on her mother’s warning as she hurried down
the crumbling staircase.
The Dragon’s Eye was cursed, as Maleficent had told her,
which meant that anyone who touched it would immediately
fall sleep for a thousand years. That had always been her
mother’s specialty—putting people to sleep against their will.
Of course, that hadn’t exactly worked out during the Sleeping
Beauty debacle, but that didn’t mean that the Dragon’s Eye
staff would be any less powerful now. When Mal found the
scepter she would have to take care not to touch it, and then to
figure out a way to somehow bring it back without awakening
the curse.
If it still works.
If I find it.
 If it exists at all.
As Mal picked up her backpack, she only felt worse. Even
dumping an extra spray can into her bag didn’t lift her spirits.
Maybe Jay was right.
Maybe this whole quest was too silly to even embark on.
She didn’t know where to begin to find her mother’s lost
weapon, no matter how powerful it once had been.
Who was she to think she could find something that had
been lost for so long? Maybe she should just forget about it
and go back to her usual routine of tagging and shoplifting.
Besides, it wasn’t as if anything Mal could do would
change how her mother saw her. Even if she did succeed in
finding the Dragon’s Eye, Mal knew she couldn’t help who her
father had been, and in the end that was what Maleficent could
never forgive nor forget.
The one thing Mal herself could never fix.
So why bother?
Why try?
Maybe she should just accept it and move on. That’s what
her mother expected from her, anyway.
To fail. To disappoint. To give up. To give in.
Just like everyone else in this place.
Mal pulled open the castle door and set out for school,
trying not to think about it.
Like many nerds before him, Carlos liked school. He wasn’t
ashamed to admit it—he would have told as much to anyone
who bothered to ask. Since no one did, however, he reviewed
the argument himself.
He liked the structure and the rules of school. He liked the
work, too—answering the kinds of questions that had answers,
and exploring the ones that didn’t. While there were parts of
school that were torture, like when he was forced to run the
length of the tombs in gym (why practice fleeing on foot when
they lived on an island?) or when he had to work with
assigned partners (usually the kind who teased him for not
being able to run the length of the tombs in gym), the other
parts more than made up for it.
Those were the good parts—the parts where you actually
used your brain—for which Carlos liked to think he was better
equipped than the average villain.
And he was right.
Because Carlos De Vil’s brain, by way of comparison, was
almost as big as Cruella De Vil’s fur-coat closet.
That’s what Carlos tried to tell himself, anyway, especially
when people were making him run the tombs.
 His first class today was Weird Science, one he always
looked forward to. It was where he’d originally gotten the idea
to put his machine together, from the lesson on radio waves.
Carlos was not the only top student in the class—he was tied,
in fact, with the closest thing he had to a rival in the whole
school: the scrawny, bespectacled Reza.
Reza was the son of the former Royal Astronomer of
Agrabah, who had consulted with Jafar to make sure the stars
aligned on more than one nefarious occasion, which was how
his family had found their way to the Isle of the Lost with
everyone else.
Weird Science was the class where Carlos always worked
the hardest. The presence of Reza, who was every bit as
competitive in science lab as he was, only made Carlos work
that much harder.
And as annoying as everyone found Reza to be—he
always had to use the very biggest words for everything,
whether they were used correctly and whether he was inserting
a few extra syllables where they might or might not belong—
he was still smart.
Very smart. Which meant Carlos enjoyed besting him. Just
the other week they had been working on a special elixir, and
Reza had been annoyed that Carlos had figured out the secret
ingredient first.
Yeah, Reza was almost as smart as he was irritating. Even
now he was raising his hand, waving it wildly back and forth.
Their professor, the powerful sorcerer Yen Sid, ignored
him. Yen Sid had been sent to the Isle of the Lost from
Auradon by King Beast to teach the villain kids how to live
without magic and learn the magic of science instead. Carlos
remarked once that it must have been a huge sacrifice for him
to give up Auradon, but the crotchety old wizard shrugged and
said that he didn’t mind and that he had a responsibility to
teach all children, good or bad.
Yen Sid resumed their lesson by quoting his favorite
phrase, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is
indistinguishable from magic.” The secretive magician smiled
from his lectern, his bald head glowing under the light, and his
large, gray beard covering half his chest. He had traded in his
sorcerer’s robes for a chemist’s white coat, now that there was
no market in magic, and…well, no magic to speak of.
Reza raised his hand again. Once again, Yen Sid ignored
him, and Carlos smiled to himself.
“Just because there is no magic on the Isle of the Lost does
not mean we cannot make our own,” Yen Sid said. “In fact, we
can create everything we need for a spell right in this
classroom. The answer to our situation is right in front of us.
From fireworks to explosions, everything can be made from…
science.”
“Except, science is boring,” said one of the Gastons.
“And also, what’s that smell?” said the other Gaston,
slapping his brother on the head. “Because—you know—
beans are the magical fruit.”
“Shut up,” Carlos hissed. He wanted to listen.
Reza’s hand shot up again. Me, me, me.
“I’m talking about the magic of science,” Yen Sid said,
ignoring both Gastons and Reza.
“Excuse me. Excuse me, Professor?” Reza couldn’t
contain himself any longer. He was practically squeaking in
his seat. Carlos snorted.
The professor sighed. “What is it, Reza?”
Reza stood up. “Irregardless, the irrelevancy of my
classmates’ simplistical commentation bears no
meaningfulness to this experiment, in point of fact.”
“Thank you, Reza.” Yen Sid understood, as Carlos did,
that Reza had just said the Gastons were stupid. Which was
news to no one at all.
Reza cleared his throat.
“If science is in fact magic, i.e., per se, could one then
correspondingly and accordingly posit the postulate that magic
is thus, ergo, to wit, also science, quid pro quo, quod erat
demonstrandum, Q.E.D.?”
Yen Sid rolled his eyes. Muffled snorts and snickers came
from the rest of the class.
“Yes, Reza. Science could be described, in fact, as magic.
From certain perspectives. But you don’t have to take my
word for it. Why don’t you start today’s experiment and find
out for yourself—”
Reza’s hand shot up again. The whole class started to
laugh.
Yen Sid looked at him sternly. “—like your classmate
Carlos here, who, instead of wasting time with more talk, is
halfway done with the assignment?” He raised an eyebrow at
Reza.
Reza’s face turned red. The class laughed harder.
Today’s lesson focused on engineering. Carlos’s heart
warmed as he bent over his desk and applied himself to the
task of learning how to make a robotic broom that swept by
itself.
It was the solution to his earlier problem. With this
invention, he would be able to clean Hell Hall in a jiffy. He
even had a name for it: the Broomba.
The Gastons grumbled, but Carlos couldn’t even hear
them. Not when he was working. He tightened a screw on the
motor of his broom.
This was the real magic.
By the end of first period, it wasn’t just Carlos who was happy
to be back in school. Evie was glad she had decided to show
up as well. For one thing, she didn’t see any sign of Mal; and
for another thing, it was empowering to realize that while her
mother might never think she was pretty enough, she was
certainly pretty enough for her Selfies Seminar, which only a
few students from Selfies 101 were allowed to take. As it
turned out, she could have taught the class herself.
 “These are amazing!” Mother Gothel gushed as she looked
over Evie’s homework. The class had been ordered to produce
a series of self-portraits, and Evie had spent the hours before
Carlos’s party hard at work on her portfolio, taking pictures of
herself. Beauty required effort, didn’t it? Wasn’t that what her
mother always said?
And, since her mother had made her so aware of every
angle and every trick of light and cosmetics, Evie had the best
photographs. (Truthfully, this class was nothing; by the time
Evie could hold a hairbrush, she had known how to make
herself seem ten times more beautiful than she really was.)
It’s all smoke and mirrors, she thought, wincing at the
word mirror. That’s how you get to be the fairest of them all.
She tried to ignore the other girls in the class, the step-
granddaughters especially, who looked daggers at her.
“It’s as if you spend every second staring at your own
reflection!” Mother Gothel marveled. “Now, that is a feat of
self-centeredness!”
Evie smiled. “Why, thank you. I do try.”
“Your mother must be so proud,” Mother Gothel said,
handing back the photos.
Evie only nodded.
After bombing on his Evil World History exam, Jay ducked to
hide from an evil step-granddaughter, who waved to him
coquettishly, making him late for his Enrichment class. He
slipped into the shadows behind a statue in the stairwell.
Crap.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t enjoyed dancing with her last
night; he liked dancing with her fine, and stealing girls’ hearts
was practically a hobby. But it wasn’t as fun as stealing other
things, since hearts came with too many strings attached. And
it certainly didn’t pay as well.
Besides, Jay liked his freedom.
“Jayyyyyy,” her voice sing-songed down the hall. “Oh,
Jayyyyy I think you might have something of my
grandmother’s that I need back. I’m very, very angry at you,
you bad boy,” she said, not sounding angry at all.
But Jay wouldn’t come out of his hiding place behind the
statue of Evil Dragon Maleficent. The stone monstrosity,
commissioned by Maleficent herself, took up more than half
the landing between the school’s second and third basement
levels, and had become one of Jay’s most reliable hiding spots.
Soon his predatory dance date gave up the search.
“Phew, that was close.” He slid out of hiding and fell into
step with Carlos, who frowned at him without looking up from
his book as he walked.
“Closer than all the other times?”.
“Yeah…no. Not really.” Jay sighed.
Carlos turned the page, and the two boys headed into
Enrichment without saying another word.
Enrichment was literally about enriching oneself by taking
from others. The class studied lock-picking techniques,
shoplifting secrets—which meant it was Jay’s favorite class
for the obvious reason—being a thief and all—and today’s
guest lecturer was none other than the school’s creepy
headmaster himself, Dr. Facilier.
“There are many kinds of thieves,” Dr. Facilier said in his
silky whisper. “One can shoplift at the bazaar, or burglarize a
home, or steal a rickshaw. But these are, of course, petty
exercises. Mere child’s play.”
Jay wanted to argue. After all, he had Dr. Facilier’s bolo tie
in his pocket, didn’t he? What are you calling child’s play, old
man?
“But a true villain has larger ambitions—to steal an
identity, a fortune—someone’s entire life! Can someone give
me an example of such villainy? Such great enrichment?” The
good doctor surveyed the room. “Yes, Carlos?”
“My mother wanted to steal one hundred and one
puppies!” Carlos said, almost in a yelp. “That was large.”
 “Yes, and that was an extravagantly evil dream.” Dr.
Facilier smiled, and everyone in the room shuddered at the
sight. “Anyone else? Examples?”
“My mother stole Rapunzel’s magic to keep herself
young?” Ginny Gothel offered. “Rapunzel had really…large…
hair?”
“You have a point there. A very good example surely, of
enriching oneself through the abuse of others,” Dr. Facilier
nodded. He walked over to the blackboard. “Now, I
understand that the advanced students among you have your
project for Evil Schemes due.”
A few heads nodded, including Jay’s and Carlos’s.
“My own evil scheme was the height of enrichment. Does
anyone know it?”
The room was silent. Dr. Facilier looked insulted. He
muttered something about “kids these days” and resumed his
lecture.
“For my evil scheme, I had turned Prince Naveen into a
frog, and voodoo’d his valet to look like him. My plan was for
his valet to marry Charlotte La Bouff, and once he did, I
would kill her father and take his fortune. If I had succeeded, I
would have stolen a man’s identity and another man’s fortune.
A stroke of enrichment!”
The class clapped. A beaming Dr. Facilier bowed, stiffly
and quickly.
“Except you failed,” Carlos pointed out, when the room
was silent again.
“Yes,” Dr. Facilier brooded, his face falling. “That’s true. I
failed. Disastrously, unfortunately, and decidedly. I was a
complete and utter failure. I won neither the princess nor the
fortune. Hence, the founding of Dragon Hall, where we must
learn from our failures and teach the next generation of
villains to do what we were not able to do.”
Harriet Hook raised her hand. “What’s that?”
 “Prepare! Research! Be more evil! Work faster! Think
bigger!” Dr. Facilier urged. “So that when the time comes,
when the dome falls—and magic is returned to us—and it will
be, my children, it will be; evil like us cannot be contained—
you will be ready.”
Jay scribbled on his notepad. Be more evil. Think bigger.
The Big Score.
Once again, his thoughts went back to the Dragon’s Eye. It
was Maleficent’s scepter, and the quest for its recovery was
Mal’s mission. It wasn’t his quest, and it wasn’t his problem.
But what if it was?
What if it should be?
Mal had asked him to help, and he had blown her off. But
what if he told her that he would help her? And what if, when
they did find it, he stole it right from under her nose? He
would be stealing a fortune and her identity as Maleficent’s
heir all in one swoop, just like Dr. Facilier.
And what if, by chance, it still worked?
His father would finally have his Big Score. Jay would
have his Evil Scheme. Between the two of them, they’d find a
way off the Isle of Lost, Leftover, and Forgotten.
They didn’t belong there anymore, did they?
Jay smiled. He would enrich himself, all right. All the way
to becoming the Master of Darkness.
By lunchtime, the rest of the school was still talking about last
night’s epic howler at Hell Hall, but Mal had no interest. The
party was the past; she’d moved on.
She had bigger things to worry about now. All she could
think about was how her mother wanted the Dragon’s Eye
back. And how Maleficent wouldn’t see her as anything other
than her father’s daughter—in other words, a pathetic, soft
human—until Mal could prove her wrong.
Mal kept reliving last night’s conversation over and over,
so that she missed her first few classes and sleepwalked
through the rest. She arrived for her one-on-one after-school
seminar with Lady Tremaine still feeling anxious and out of
sorts.
“Hi, Professor Tremaine, you wanted to see me about my
year-long evil scheme?” she asked, knocking on the open door
to the faculty tombs.
Lady Tremaine looked up from her desk with a thin smile.
“Yes, come in and shut the door, please.” A full thermos of
curdled wine sat on the desk in front of her, which didn’t bode
well. Lady Tremaine only drank sour wine when she was in a
sour mood.
Mal knew she was in trouble, but she did as told and sat
across from her teacher. “So what’s up?
Lady Tremaine snorted. “‘What’s up’ is this…sad excuse
for a year-long evil scheme. A grudge against one girl? Party
tricks? Pranks? This is beneath you, Mal. I expected more
from you. You’re my best student.” She reached for her wine
and sipped it, making an appropriately disgusted face.
You expected more? You and everyone else on this island,
Mal thought sullenly. Get in line.
“What’s wrong with my evil scheme?” she asked.
“It’s just not evil enough,” sniffed Lady Tremaine.
Mal sighed.
Lady Tremaine glared. “I need you to really put your dark
heart and foul soul into it. Come up with a truly wicked
scheme. One that will bring you to the depths of depravity and
heights of wicked greatness of which I know you’re capable.”
Mal kicked the desk and frowned. She’d thought her evil
scheme was pretty wicked. “Like what? And how do you
know what wicked greatness I’m capable of, anyway?”
“You are Mal, daughter of Maleficent! Who doesn’t know
that?” Lady Tremaine shook her head.
You’d be surprised, Mal thought.
 Lady Tremaine continued to sip her wine. “I’m sure you’ll
come up with something, dear. You are your mother’s
daughter, after all. I expect something truly horrid and
legendary for your evil scheme. Something that will go down
in history,” Lady Tremaine said, returning Mal’s paper to her.
“I’ll give you a minute to brainstorm, if that helps.”
Mal looked down at the proposal she’d originally written.
At first, she bristled at the criticism. She didn’t want to hear it.
What was wrong with this? It was evil, pure evil. And it
was bad, wasn’t it? Taking down a princess—that wasn’t
exactly a nice thing to do. She was going to make Evie pay,
wasn’t she?
And a vendetta, that was a time-honored evil scheme,
wasn’t it?
Classic villainy? What was wrong with that?
Mal wanted to crumple the paper in her hand. She didn’t
have time for this. She had other things on her mind…her
mother and the Dragon’s Eye, for one, that stupid cursed
scepter…
Hey, wait a minute….
What did my mother say about the Dragon’s Eye?
Whoever touches the scepter will be cursed to fall asleep
for a thousand years.
Maleficent had only cursed Aurora’s kingdom to fall
asleep for a hundred years after Sleeping Beauty had pricked
her finger on a spinning wheel. This curse put the victim to
sleep for a thousand.
That was like, ten times more evil, unless her math was
off. Anyway, much more evil. Plus or minus a few zeroes.
Maybe she should embark on this quest, after all.
And if somehow, along the way, she made it happen that
Evie was the one who would touch the Dragon’s Eye…
Well, that would be the nastiest, wickedest plan the Isle
would ever witness! A two-for-one! No, a triple play—
 She’d take out the princess and win her own mother’s
respect—as well as the school’s evil scheme competition—all
at once.
Lady Tremaine was right. All these little petty tricks she
had planned to play on Evie were nothing compared to this. If
Mal sent Evie to sleep for a thousand years—well, what could
be nastier than that?
Or, more to the point, who?
“I’ve got it!” Mal said, jumping up from her chair and
giving the startled Lady Tremaine a big hug, despite her better
judgment (and Lady Tremaine’s breath). “Something so evil,
no one has seen it before—or ever will again!”
“Wonderful, child! It makes me so happy to see you so
wicked,” sniffed Lady Tremaine, bringing a hankie to her eye.
“It brings me hope for our future. Except for, you know. That
hug.”
Mal smiled triumphantly. Even a sappy hug couldn’t get to
her now. She couldn’t wait to get started. Evil waited for no
one.
Her mind started turning.
She couldn’t very well embark on an evil quest alone. If
she were going to look for a needle in a haystack, or the
Dragon’s Eye on the island, she would need minions, her own
henchmen to command, just like her mother had. She would
have to put together a strike team—plus, it would be easier to
get Evie to come with her if she were part of a group.
But where would she get minions of her own? Of course,
there were always Maleficent’s henchmen’s kids. Except those
boar-like guys stank too much; and as for the goblins and
jackals—well, who would run the Slop Shop? Also, as she’d
noted before, she didn’t speak Goblin. Besides, her mother
kept harping about how useless they’d been during the whole
Curse-Sleeping-Beauty mission.
Pass.
Mal would have to find her own team. Her own crew of
right-hand-men and one yes-woman in particular.
 Where to start?
She’d need someone who knew the island back and forth,
upside down and sideways.
Someone who could be counted on if they met any trouble,
being a whole lot of trouble himself.
Someone who knew how to get his hands on what he
wanted.
She just had to convince him to join her.
Maybe she could promise him some kind of reward, or
something.
It was already dark when she left school and went straight
to Jafar’s Junk Shop.
Mal tossed pebbles on the junk shop’s window so that they
clattered on the sill. “Jay! Are you there?” she shout-
whispered. “Jay! Come out! I want to talk to you!” She hurled
a few more stones again.
“Who’s making that infernal noise? Doesn’t anyone know
how to ring a doorbell these days?” Jafar demanded as he
pushed the window open and stuck his head out. He was about
to unleash a string of curses when he saw who was standing
outside. “Oh, my dear Mal,” he said, his voice still as silky as
when he had been advising the Sultan. “How may I be of
service?”
Mal was about to apologize when she remembered dark
fairies are never sorry. “I’m looking for Jay,” she said, trying
to sound as commanding as her mother.
“Why, yes, of course,” Jafar said. “I will let him know.
Please, come inside.” There was a pause, and then Jafar
bellowed in a booming voice, “JAY! MAL WANTS YOU!”
“THERE IN A SEC!” Jay yelled back.
“What’s the deal with villains and birds?” asked Mal,
entering the junk shop and finding Iago on Jafar’s shoulder.
She thought of how Maleficent showered Diablo with so much
affection.
“Excuse me?” Jafar asked, while Iago narrowed his beady
eyes at Mal.
“Nothing.”
Jay appeared. “Oh, hey, Mal, funny you’re here, I was just
about to head over your way. We should talk more about that
—”
“That homework assignment,” Mal said, shooting dagger
looks at him. Nobody else could know about the Dragon’s
Eye.
“Right, yeah. Homework. Thanks, Dad, I’ll take it from
here,” Jay said, indicating pointedly for his dad to leave.
Jafar pulled his robe around him and huffed, Iago
squawking and flying behind him.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Mal asked when she
and Jay were finally alone.
Jay motioned to the junk shop. “What’s wrong with here?”
Mal looked around the messy shop, noticing a few things
that were hers in the pile and taking them back without
comment. She supposed it was as good a place as any—and
seriously, what was she hiding, anyway? It wasn’t as if anyone
else would steal Maleficent’s Dragon’s Eye. Who would be
dumb enough to do that…?
She squinted at Jay, who was inspecting a beaker that he’d
pulled from his pocket. His dark eyes shone with mischief.
“Where’d you get that?” she asked. “What is it?”
“I dunno. Reza had it in his bag. He was all protective
about it, so I took it,” Jay explained with a sly smile.
Mal made an impatient gesture. She couldn’t wait to get
started and couldn’t afford to get distracted. “Listen, I know
you don’t think we can, but we need to figure out how to find
that Dragon’s Eye. I mean, it does command all of the forces
of darkness when it works. And, who knows? Magic might
return to the island one day.”
Jay raised his eyebrows. “Yeah—I was just about to say
the same thing.”
“Really?” she asked, shocked that he had taken so little
convincing. She began to get a tad suspicious.
Jay blew on his nails. “Yeah. I mean, come on, if it’s really
here, we need to get our hands on it. But are you sure your
mother’s right? I mean, she is a little crazy in the horn-head.”
Mal rolled her eyes. “You can’t deny Diablo’s back. He
was frozen in stone, but he’s alive now. He’s already eaten
almost everything in our cupboards.”
“Whoa.”
“I know, right?”
“Iago’s the same. I think he eats more than me and Dad
combined.”
They shared a chuckle.
“Okay, great—I was hoping to start searching as soon as
possible,” Mal said, willing to overlook the possibility that Jay
was only agreeing to help for his own selfish motives. She
could handle him.
Jay was about to say something when he turned around, his
reflexes swift and suspicious. “What’s that noise?” he asked,
just as the door to the back room crashed down and Jafar
tumbled through, Iago sitting on his stomach.
“I told you that you were too fat to lean on that door!” Iago
scolded.
Jafar made a valiant attempt to take back his dignity, and
pulled himself up to stand and brush the dust and detritus from
his hair. “Oh, we were just about to ask if the two of you
wanted dinner, weren’t we, Iago? But we couldn’t help but
overhear…forgive me if we are wrong, but did you say that
Maleficent’s Dragon’s Eye scepter is lost somewhere on this
island?” Jafar asked, his dark eyes gleaming.
 Mal narrowed her eyes at Jay, mentally berating him for
not having found a suitable place for them to talk privately.
But it was clear that it was too late, and Jafar already knew
everything.
Jafar looked solemnly at the two teenagers in front of him.
“Follow me, it’s time we had a real conversation.”
He led them to his private sitting room in the back of the
shop, a cozy den full of jewel-toned curtains and Oriental rugs,
tufted satin pillows and brass lamps and sconces that gave it a
mournful, exotic, desert air. Jafar took a seat on one of the
long, low couches and motioned for them to make themselves
comfortable on the ottomans. “When I was released from my
genie bottle and brought here to this cursed island, while I was
whizzing through the air, I saw what looked at first like just an
ordinary forest but upon closer observation was actually a
black castle covered in thorns.”
“Another castle?” Mal asked. “Covered in thorns, you say?
But that would mean…that’s…”
Her mother’s true castle. The Bargain Castle was a rental.
It wasn’t their true home. The Forbidden Fortress. Wasn’t that
what her mother’s real home was called? Mal had never paid
enough attention, but it certainly sounded familiar. And where
else could it be but the Isle of the Lost?
Jafar pulled on his raggedy beard. “Yes. But I’m afraid I
can’t be sure of exactly where it is, though. This island is far
larger than you think, and you could look forever and never
find it, especially if it is hidden in the forbidden zone.”
Nowhere, as it was called by the citizens of the Isle.
“Never!” repeated Iago with a ruffle of his feathers.
“That’s what I said.” Jay nodded.
“I had completely forgotten about seeing the fortress until
now, when you mentioned Diablo’s return and his testimony
that he saw the Dragon’s Eye himself,” said Jafar. “And if the
fortress is on the island, perhaps it’s not all that’s hidden in the
mist.”
 “But why would it be here?” Jay asked, leaning forward on
his knees and looking at his father intently.
“These things were too dangerous to keep in Auradon.
And with magic made impossible by the dome, they are
harmless now. But if we were to take back what is rightfully
ours, perhaps we might have a chance against that invisible
barrier one day.”
“Diablo swears the Dragon’s Eye has sparked back to life.
Which means that maybe the shield is not as impenetrable as
we thought,” said Mal. “But we’re still stuck with not knowing
exactly where it is. There’s not exactly a map to Nowhere.”
“We can try the Athenaeum of Evil,” said Jay promptly.
“The Anthe-what of Evil?”
“The Library of Forbidden Secrets in Dragon Hall—you
know, that locked door that no one’s supposed to go into. The
one with the big spider guarding it.”
Mal shook her head. “You really think that’s anything? I
always thought it was just a way to keep the first-years out of
Dr. Facilier’s office.”
“Well, we have to start somewhere. And I remember Dr. F
mentioning in Enrichment that the library contains information
about the history of the island.”
“Since when do you pay attention in class?” Mal asked
disgustedly.
“Listen, you want my help, or not?”
Jay had a point. It was a start, and she’d learned more
about the island in one evening at the junk shop than she had
in sixteen years. “All right.”
“We’ll go tomorrow, bright and early,” Jay said cheerfully.
“Meet at the bazaar for supplies first, as soon as the market
opens.”
Mal made a face. She hated getting up early. “What’s
wrong with tonight?”
 “The orchestra’s playing a concert tonight, there will be
too many people around. Tomorrow’s Saturday: no one will be
there. Easier.”
Mal sighed. “Fine. By the way, thanks for your help,
Jafar.”
“My pleasure,” Jafar said with a crooked smile. “Good
night.”
When Mal had gone, Jay felt his father slither up to him and
dig his fingers into his sleeve. “What’s up?” he asked, even
though he already knew.
“The Dragon’s Eye,” Jafar cooed.
“I know, I know.” Jay nodded. It would be the biggest
score of the year.
“I would hate to think you’re betraying your friend,” Jafar
said with a sorrowful look on his face.
“Don’t worry, Dad. None of us have any friends,” Jay
scoffed. “Least of all, Mal.”
As they’d agreed, the next morning Jay met Mal at the
crowded marketplace so they could “pick up” (read swipe)
supplies for their journey to find the fortress. Jay hung back
and snatched a bunch of fruit from a couple of tents while Mal
stopped at a fortune-teller’s stand and traded a stolen pair of
only slightly chipped earrings for a tattered pack of tarot cards.
“What are those for?” Jay asked.
“No one’s allowed into the library right? Where all those
documents are locked up and sealed…”
“And the only person who has the key is Dr. F, and he
loves tarot cards.”
“Glad to see you’re awake,” Mal replied.
“So, how sure are you about this whole thing? I mean, a
little sure? A lot sure? Just-want-something-to-do sure?” asked
Jay, juggling a few bruised peaches.
“I don’t know. But I have to at least try to find the fortress,
especially if the Dragon’s Eye is there. Also, don’t you think
it’s weird that we’ve never left the village? I mean, this
island’s pretty small, and we’ve never even tried to look
around.”
“What’s there to look at? You said it yourself—we’re
probably headed for Nowhere.”
“But if somehow there’s a map of the island in the library,
we’ll know exactly where in Nowhere we should be heading to
find the fortress. There’s something out there, beyond the
village. I know it.”
“But say we do get a hold of the Dragon’s Eye and it can’t
do anything?” Jay asked.
“Diablo swears that it sparked to life!”
“But how? There’s no magic on the Isle. Nada.”
“Well, maybe there’s a hole in the dome, or something,”
said Mal.
“A hole?” scoffed Jay.
“I told you, I don’t know; all I know is that the raven
swears he saw it spark, and my mother wants me to fetch it,
like I’m an errand girl. If you’re too chicken to come with me,
then go back and steal some more crap for your junk shop,”
Mal said, annoyed.
“I’m not chicken!”
“Yeah—more like a parrot,” said Mal.
Jay sighed. She had him there. “Fine,” he grumbled.
“Maybe you’re right: maybe there is a hole.”
Mal’s and Jay’s squabbling voices carried throughout the
marketplace, and Evie couldn’t help but overhear. She was at
the bazaar for her first-ever shopping trip. Since nothing had
befallen Evie for having left the castle and gone to school, Evil
Queen was more convinced than ever that Maleficent had
forgotten about their banishment, or at least didn’t care that
they had returned. Evil Queen was so excited to be back in the
village, she was running from storefront to storefront, saying
hello to everyone and filling her cart with all sorts of age-
defying elixirs and new beauty regimens.
Evie squinted at their faces. Mal was scowling and Jay
looked annoyed, as per usual. Was she imagining it, or did she
hear them say something about a hole in the magical barrier?
The memory of that burst of light that had shot out of Carlos’s
invention the night of the party came to her quickly.
“Are you guys talking about a hole in the dome?” she
asked, coming up to the two of them.
Mal looked up suspiciously, but when she saw Evie her
voice turned thick as honey. “Why, Evie! You’re just the
person I’ve been looking for,” she said.
“She is?” Jay asked, confused.
 “Yes, she is,” Mal said definitively. “Now, what were you
saying about the dome?”
Evie wondered if she should tell them what she knew. She
knew she couldn’t trust Mal, and she had an inkling that Jay
was behind her missing poison-heart necklace. She hadn’t seen
it since the party and suspected he’d lifted it when he’d taken
her cloak that evening.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Tell us,” urged Jay, crossing his arms.
“Why should I?” Evie sniffed. Mal had trapped her in a
closet! And Jay wasn’t any better, really—the little thief.
“Because,” Jay said. Then he was stumped. “Um. Because
if you don’t, Mal will curse you?” he added, even though he
didn’t sound convinced himself.
“If you haven’t noticed, there’s no magic on this island,”
Evie said huffily.
“Not yet,” said Mal. “But there may be one day.” She took
Evie’s arm in hers and whispered, “Look, I know we didn’t
start off on the right foot, but I think we should let bygones be
bygones. It’s a small island, and we shouldn’t be enemies.”
“Really?”
“Totally,” said Mal with her sweetest smile.
Evie knew Mal wasn’t being sincere, but she was intrigued
enough to play along with it.
She was about to tell her what she knew about the dome
when Evil Queen burst out of Bits and Bobs, wearing a jet-
black velour sweat suit with QUEEN embroidered across her
derriere. “Evie! I got some new eye shadow for you! Oh!” she
said, when she saw Evie wasn’t alone. “If it isn’t Mal!” she
added nervously. “How are you, dear? How’s your mother? Is
she here? Is she still mad at me?”
“Uh…” Mal blinked.
Evie wished her mother would stop talking, but of course
that was a fruitless wish. Her mother continued to babble on
nervously. “Tell your mother to come around and see me
sometime. I’d be happy to give her a makeover! I’ve seen her
photos in the paper. She’s looking a bit green lately. She needs
a stronger foundation,” Evil Queen said.
“I’ll uh, let her know,” Mal said.
“You do that, sweetheart! And if I may say so, your purple
hair is fabulous! It really brings out your cheekbones!” Evil
Queen gushed.
“Thank you? I guess?” said Mal, who looked distinctly
uncomfortable.
Jay laughed. “Take the compliment, Mal. Sorry, Evil
Queen, Mal isn’t used to compliments. You know Maleficent
has no interest in beauty unless it can be used to glamour
someone into doing her will.”
“Right. Let’s go, Evie,” said her mother.
“Oh, can Evie hang out with us?” asked Mal with a syrupy
smile. “We were just about to grab a few unhealthy snacks
from the Slop Shop.”
Evie was torn. On the one hand, she knew she should stay
away from Mal if she wanted to be safe, but on the other, she
never got to hang out with kids her age.
Evil Queen nodded. “Sure! I’ll see you at home, sweetie.”
As she left, she mouthed, “Reapply your lip gloss!”.
When her mother had disappeared into the crowd, Evie
picked up the conversation where they had left off. “You guys
want to know about the hole in the dome, or not?”
Mal and Jay exchanged glances. “Of course we do,” they
chorused.
Evie shrugged. “Well, something happened the night of the
party that may have to do with the dome.”
“Is that right?” asked Mal with a raised eyebrow.
“You need to talk to Carlos,” said Evie. “He knows what
happened.” She shivered from the memory, at the bright light
that had emanated from that little machine. For a second there,
she had worried that they had broken the universe somehow.
She still remembered the vibrant, sharp feeling of electricity in
the air. It had felt like…magic.
“Carlos? Why? What does he have to do with anything?”
Mal demanded as they passed a tent selling colorful scarves,
and Jay practiced his parkour by running across the walls and
rooftops.
“Because he was the one that did it,” said Evie.
“Did what?”
“Punched a hole in the dome.”
Jay barked a laugh and dropped down next to them. “Yeah,
right—as if that little guy can punch anything. Come on, Mal.
We’ve got work to do.” He began to turn away.
Evie stared at Mal. Mal stared at Evie.
“I’m not lying,” she said to Mal.
“I didn’t think you were,” said Mal, her green eyes
flashing. Evie met them with her calm blue ones. Finally Mal
said, “Okay.”
“You actually believe her?” Jay gawked, sounding right
then like Iago.
“I think we need to check it all out,” said Mal.
“But we’re headed to Dragon Hall,” said Jay.
“No, we’ll head toward Hell Hall first. I want to talk to
Carlos,” Mal decided. “And you’re coming with us, Evie.”
Evie didn’t argue with that. Something big was going
down. Something had started, the night that Carlos had turned
on that machine. And against her better judgment, Evie wanted
to see how it would end.
So, onward to Hell Hall they went; but now the two-some
was three.
One more day of freedom before his mother came home.
Carlos surveyed his domain. Considering that it had been the
headquarters of a rather epic party earlier in the week, it didn’t
look too bad. The Broomba had worked wonders. Then again,
the place always was a bit of a wreck, so who would notice?
The iron knight who towered over the staircase was as
solid as ever, the draperies just as heavy and dusty, the faded
wallpaper and the holes in the walls lending just that ruined
touch that other decorators on the island tried to copy, to no
avail.
Carlos was enjoying the rare, relative peace in his house
when it was shattered by the sound of the front door knocker
pounding so hard, he was sure its booming echo could be
heard across the entire island.
He opened the door, then slammed it shut when he saw
who was on his doorstep. “Go away, Mal—haven’t you done
enough?” he yelled from inside the house.
“Open up! It’s important!” Jay demanded.
“No!”
“Carlos!” That was Evie’s voice. “Something happened
with that machine of yours the other night. Something big!”
 Wait—what? Evie had told them about his invention? But
she had promised! He cracked open the door the tiniest bit so
that only his left eye was showing. “You told them what
happened?” he said accusingly. “I trusted you!”
Evie pleaded, “Come on, open up! I brought you a
pillow!”
Carlos opened the door grudgingly. “Fine. You guys can
come in. But don’t even think of locking anyone in the closet
this time, Mal!” He turned to Evie. “Is it made of goose
down?” he asked excitedly. He hadn’t really believed she
would bring him one.
“Yup, the vultures who brought it said the goblin who
found it swore it’s from one of the Auradon castles,” Evie said,
handing him a pillow in a blue silk pillowcase with a royal
insignia.
He accepted the pillow and led them into the living room,
pushed some deflated black balloons off the couch, and
glowered at them. “Well, what did my machine do?” he asked.
Mal raised an eyebrow, and he immediately regretted his
tone of voice. “I mean, care to enlighten me?” he asked
politely.
“Evie?” prompted Mal.
Evie took a deep breath. “Okay, so the night of the party,
Carlos switched on this machine he’s invented—it’s a box that
looks for some kind of signal that lets you watch other TV
shows—right, Carlos?”
Carlos nodded. “And music, and lots of other things,
through radio waves.”
“So when he turned it on that night, it let out this huge
blast of light!” she said breathlessly. “And it burned a hole
right through the tree-house roof! We saw it go right through
the dome!”
Carlos nodded.
“And the TV suddenly came alive with all these colors!
And there were a bunch of new shows! Not just the usual
Dungeon Deals and King Beast’s Fireside Chats!”
“But how does that prove it broke through the dome?”
asked Mal, who looked skeptical, and Carlos couldn’t blame
her. He hardly believed it himself.
“Because we’ve never seen those shows before! Which
means the signal didn’t come from the relay station on the Isle
of the Lost. Which means it had to have come from a
forbidden network on Auradon…” said Evie.
“Which means…” Carlos prodded.
“The blast broke through the dome. For a second,” Evie
finished triumphantly.
Mal turned to Carlos. “You really think that your machine
did that?”
“It might’ve,” he admitted.
“Do you think there’s a possibility it let magic in, and not
just radio waves?”
“Magic in? I don’t know. Why? Do you know something
we don’t?” There had to be a reason Mal was here. She had to
have some kind of angle on this. Mal never paid any attention
to anyone unless she wanted something. What did she want?
He could see her weighing her options. Would she tell
them? She didn’t know him every well except to tease him,
and from what he’d observed so far, Mal wasn’t fond of Evie
in the least. Jay might be in on it—he had to be, otherwise he
wouldn’t be here.
“Fine. I’ll tell you guys,” Mal said finally. “Jay already
knows. But this has to stay between us. And Evie, no hidden
backsies.”
Evie put up her hands in protest.
“Okay, so the night of the party, my mother’s raven,
Diablo—who’d been turned into stone by the three so-called
‘good’ fairies twenty years ago, came back to life. And Diablo
swears he saw the Dragon’s Eye, my mother’s missing scepter,
spark to life as well.”
 Carlos stared at her, and no one spoke for a long moment.
“But that would mean…” Carlos said, his eyes blinking
rapidly as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Magic! That magic had been able to penetrate the dome
for a second!” Jay said excitedly. He had been silent until now,
looking around Hell Hall most likely to see if he had missed
pocketing anything good from the other night.
Carlos himself was still trying to process what Mal had
told them. It was one thing to get to watch new television
shows, but it was quite another to hear that magic had
penetrated the invisible barrier, and that Maleficent’s missing
scepter—the most powerful dark weapon in the universe—had
been brought back to life.
“Yes,” said Mal. “Diablo swears it’s true. And so now my
mother has tasked me with getting the Dragon’s Eye back. Just
in case it happens again, the magic returning. So that this time,
she’ll be ready.”
Jay coughed. “And so, um, we should get on the road, Mal,
before it gets too late,” he said. “You know I hate to miss a
meal.”
Carlos could sympathize with that, especially since meals
came so rarely.
“Wait a minute. Before we go, I want to see this box of
his,” Mal said, motioning to Carlos.
Carlos was about to argue but decided it was wiser to let
Mal have her way. “All right,” he said. “Let me go get it.” He
ran through the safe way into his mother’s closet and returned
with the machine.
He handed it to Mal, who inspected it closely. She shook
it, put it up to her ear, and shrugged. It looked just like a
regular box to her, nothing special, and certainly not powerful
enough to break through the dome.
“Can you make it work again?” she asked.
“I haven’t tried.”
“Try.”
 He hesitated for a moment, then fiddled with a few knobs
and looked fearfully up at the ceiling. “Okay. Here we go.” He
pressed the switch.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
Again, nothing.
He shook his head. “Sorry. Maybe it was just a one-time
deal.”
Mal crossed her arms, looking stymied. Carlos knew that
look—it meant she was about explode. What if Mal thought
they were just pulling her leg? Letting her think they had made
a discovery, when all along they were just making fun of her?
He had to think of something….
“Wanna see the hole in the ceiling?” he offered. If Mal
wanted proof, he could give her proof.
Mal thought about it for a minute. “Sure, why not.”
Carlos took them to his tree house, and the four of them
inspected the ceiling. It was definitely there, a perfectly round,
tiny black hole.
“Rad,” pronounced Jay, bumping fists with Carlos.
Carlos grinned proudly. He was still hugging his new
pillow. He was looking forward to trying it out soon. Would he
actually sleep through the night for once without tossing and
turning?
Mal peered up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how much I
believe your little invention actually blasted a hole in the
invisible dome, but Jay’s right, we should get going.”
Carlos sighed, unsure of whether to be relieved or
distressed. Mal was about to leave the room when the black
box on his desk suddenly began to beep.
Beep.
Beep.
 Mal turned around and stared at it. “Why’s it doing that?”
she asked.
Carlos ran over to check. “I don’t know, but it’s been
beeping on and off since it blew a hole in the roof and the
dome.”
“Maybe it’s looking for a signal?” said Evie excitedly.
“Maybe it senses something.”
“Like what?” he asked, looking down at this invention
with something like awe. He never thought it would really
work. But if Diablo was right, then this thing of his might have
actually broken the magical barrier. And now Evie was hinting
at something more? He’d only hoped to get a glimpse of the
outside world, not bring magic back into the island.
“Yeah, what do you mean, Evie?” asked Mal.
“Like maybe now it senses the Dragon’s Eye! You said it’s
never done this before. Maybe it’s because that’s never
happened before. It’s never had anything to talk to,” Evie said,
rather astutely.
“You think it could be communicating with the Dragon’s
Eye?” asked Mal.
“Like a compass. Or a homing beacon,” said Jay. His eyes
gleamed as he studied the machine hungrily, and Carlos put a
protective hand on his invention. Jay was most likely already
calculating how much he could get for something like it at the
shop.
“Could be,” said Evie.
“She might actually have a point,” said Carlos.
“A homing beacon,” echoed Mal.
“I was just guessing,” said Evie. “I don’t know anything
about anything.” Carlos wanted to tell her that she was selling
herself short, when he realized that he always did the same
thing.
“No, you don’t” said Mal sharply. “But you’re still coming
with us.”
 Evie jumped back. “With you? Where? I agreed to come to
Carlos’s, but…” She shook her head and tugged her cloak
tightly around her shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“No way, you have to help us find the Eye,” said Mal.
“You’re a natural at this. You’re so good at it. I need help, and
you want to help me, don’t you? Don’t you want to be my
friend? I want to be yours, Evie.”
“Oh I—I don’t know….”
“Shush! It’s settled. And I’ll take this, thank you very
much,” Mal said, reaching for the box.
“No way!” Carlos said, as Mal tried to pull it from him.
Mal tugged it to her side. “Let go, Carlos!” she growled.
He yanked it back. She was not taking it. He’d made it
himself!
Mal glared. “I mean it! Let go, or you’ll be sorry!”
Carlos shook his head, trembling all over.
“Fine. You win. Keep the box, Carlos, but you have to
come with us if you do!” Mal ordered.
“Come again? Go with you—where?” No way. He wasn’t
going anywhere. Especially anywhere dangerous.
Mal told him about the forbidden fortress hidden on the
island and where it might be and how they had to find it.
“Nope I’m not going to Nowhere! I’m staying right here,”
Carlos said, crossing his arms.
“You’ll do what I say, you little…” threatened Mal.
Carlos opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it.
In the end, it was Maleficent who wanted to reclaim her
scepter, not just Mal; and if word ever got back to the Mistress
of Darkness that he had opposed or hindered the search in any
way, he might as well start calling himself Slop, because that’s
what he would be.
“Okay fine, I’ll go. But only if Evie goes too,” he said.
“Evie?” asked Mal. “You’re coming, aren’t you, lovely?”
 Evie sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. I guess I’ll come.
Beats looking in the mirror all day for flaws.”
“So we’re good, then?” asked Jay. “Four of us looking for
the Dragon’s Eye?”
“I guess so. And I guess I want to know what this thing
really did,” said Carlos. “If it really did burn a hole in the
dome and let magic into the island.”
As if in answer, the machine beeped.
Beep!
Mal nodded. “All right, then, let’s go. We’ve got a library
to break into and a map to find.”
“Not just yet,” Carlos said, raising a hand. “We can’t go
anywhere until my chores are done. And it’s laundry day.”
Her mother was a famous beauty in a land of famous
beauties, and so it was only to be expected that Princess
Audrey, daughter of Aurora, was gifted with the same lilting
voice, lovely thick hair, swan-like neck, and deep, dark eyes
that could drown a prince in their warm embrace.
Like a kitten scenting catnip—or perhaps like an isle of
banished former villains sensing magic—a young prince could
hardly be expected to resist such sparkly, dimpled charms. In
point of fact, Princess Audrey, like her mother before her, was
exactly the sort of princess who gave princesses their rather
princessy reputation—right down to her very last perfect curl
and the last crystal stitched into her silken gown.
And so it was to Princess Audrey that Prince Ben went the
next day, to lick his wounds and seek some comfort after the
disastrous meeting of the King’s Council—like the
discouraged, catnip-seeking kitten he was.
“It’s such a mess,” he told her as they walked around the
garden of the “Cottage,” as Aurora and Phillip’s grand castle
was nicknamed after King Hubert had declared that the forty-
room palace was a mere starter home for the royal newlyweds.
“Starter home?” Aurora had said. “What are you possibly
imagining that we’ll start? A shelter for homeless giants?” The
king had not been pleased to hear it, but Aurora was a simple
girl and had lived as Briar Rose for eighteen years of her life
in an actual cottage in the woods, so she found the castle more
than spacious enough for her family. (And at least one or two
stray passing giants.)
“So what happens now?” Audrey asked, looking perfectly
charming with a flower in her hair. Naturally, it happened to
match the silken lining of her dusty-rose bodice. “Surely even
a prince can’t be expected to do everything right the very first
time he tries?”
Easy for you to say, Ben thought.
A dove alighted on Audrey’s shoulder, cooing sweetly.
Audrey lifted one pale-pink nail, and the dove nuzzled her
gentle fingertip. Ben found himself looking around for the
royal portraitist.
Ben sighed.
Somehow, even the sight of his beautiful girlfriend wasn’t
enough to lift the prince’s somber mood. “Dad says I have to
hold another meeting to fix it. He’s disappointed, of course,
and he’s had to send conciliatory gift baskets of his favorite
cream cakes to everyone who was there, so he’s not in the best
mood. You know how much he likes his cream cakes.”
“Frosted or unfrosted?” Audrey asked. “And with currants
or chocolates?”
“Both kinds,” Ben said, sighing again. “More than a dozen
each. Mom thinks it’s the only way to make peace, although
Dad was kind of annoyed to give away so many of his favorite
treats.”
“They are rather good.” Audrey smiled. “And everyone
does love cake.”
Ben wished Audrey could be more understanding, but her
life had been charmed from the beginning as the pampered
princess of two doting parents—especially Aurora, who been
separated from her own mother and forced to spend her
formative years in a fairy foster home, under the threat of a
deadly curse. “My daughter will never know anything but love
and beauty and peace and joy,” Aurora had declared. And she
had meant it. So it wasn’t hard to see now why Audrey
couldn’t understand how Ben could ever disappoint his
parents. She never had.
And she never will, he thought.
Like almost everything in Auradon, Audrey was perfectly
sweet, perfectly gentle, and if Ben were honest, sometimes
perfectly boring. There were other colors, aside from pink and
pale turquoise. There were other animals, who liked to do
things other than coo and cuddle. There were perhaps also
other topics than gowns and gardens and balls and carriages—
no matter how good the custom paint job on the latest chariots
was.
Weren’t there?
“I don’t even know what those sidekicks are so upset
about,” Audrey said. “They’re so adorable, and everyone loves
them. Why would they bother with things like wages and
hours and”—she paused to shudder—“credit?” She stroked the
dove. “Those aren’t lovely things at all.”
He looked at her. “I don’t know, exactly. I’d never thought
about it before, but I can’t stop thinking about it now. I’d never
imagined that anyone in Auradon didn’t live exactly like we
do, in our castles, with our servants. And our silk sheets and
breakfast trays and rose gardens.”
“I love rose gardens,” said Audrey with a smile. “And I
love the ones with topiaries shaped like adorable creatures.”
She giggled in delight at the thought, and the dove on her
shoulder chirped back agreeably.
“They said I was rude,” he lamented. “And I was.”
“The elephants are my favorite. With those cute little
trunks.”
“But I didn’t have a choice—they weren’t listening to me.
They also said I lost my temper.” He hung his head, ashamed
of the scene he had caused.
“But also the hippos. Such lovely teeth. It’s such a talent,
really, to prune a bush into the shape of a hippo. Don’t you
think?”
“Yes, but about the meeting…”
Audrey laughed again, and it was a tinkle of fairy bells
chiming in the wind. Ben realized then that she hadn’t heard a
word he was saying.
Maybe it’s better this way. She doesn’t understand what
I’m going through, and I don’t think she ever will.
Audrey must have seen the frown on his face, because she
paused to take Ben’s hand in her tiny, perfectly manicured
fingers. “Don’t worry about it, Ben—everything will work out.
It always does. You’re a prince, and I’m a princess. This is the
land of Happy Endings, remember? You deserve nothing less
than everything your heart desires. You were born to it, Ben.
We all were.”
Ben stopped in his tracks. He had never thought about it
like that. It was implied, certainly, in everything they did and
everything that was done for them. But to hear the words
themselves, from such beautifully shaped, perfectly pink
lips…
Why us? How did we luck into this life? How is that fair?
To be born into a life without a choice in the matter, without
the freedom to be anyone else?
She laughed. “Don’t stop now, silly. I have something to
show you. Something perfectly perfect, just like today.” He
allowed himself to be pulled—like any good prince in the
hands of a maiden princess—but his mind was still far away.
Is this all there is?
Is this even what I want for my life?
They had circled the garden, and now Audrey led him into
a secluded patch of wildflowers. A beautiful picnic was laid
out on the grass amid the blossoms, in a woodland vale filled
with all manner of happy forest animals nuzzling, chirping,
and hopping all about. “Isn’t it amazing? I had half the
groundsmen and three cooks working on it all morning.” She
leaned in to nuzzle Ben’s cheek. “Just for us.”
 She pulled him down to the embroidered silken blanket.
Her initials, intertwined with those of her royal parents, were
stitched into the fabric beneath them. The gold silken thread
sparkled like sunshine in the grass.
Ben smoothed a loose curl away from the blush of her rosy
cheek. “It’s lovely. And I thank you for it. But—”
“I know,” she sighed. “I didn’t bring any cream cakes. It
was all I could think about when you mentioned them. I do
apologize. But we can sample a good seventeen sorts of other
pastries.” She held up one shaped like a swan, with chocolate
wings. “This one is sweet, don’t you think?”
She all but cooed at the pastry. Ben pulled away.
He shook his head. “But don’t you ever wonder if there’s
more to life than this?”
“What could be more than this?” asked Audrey with an
uncharacteristic frown. She put down the swan. “What else is
there?”
“I don’t know, but wouldn’t you like to find out? Explore a
little. Get out on our own and see the world? At least, see our
own kingdom?”
She sucked chocolate off her finger, and even that was
distractingly cute. Ben wondered if she knew it. He suspected
that she did.
Then she sighed. “You’re not talking about that awful
island, are you?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t you ever think about it? How
weird it would be to live trapped in one place? Under a
dome?”
It was, in fact, the first time Ben could ever remember
seeing his princess’s princessy feathers ruffled. She wasn’t
even pouting now. She was practically almost nearly slightly
irritated.
“Perhaps, darling, they should have considered that before
undertaking a life of evil and villainy—which could only lead
to an eternity of punishment.”
 Now Ben was intrigued. He had never seen her like this,
and wondered for a moment if he didn’t prefer it. At the very
least, they were finally having a real conversation.
“You have to admit, an eternity is a rather long time.” He
shook his head. “They’re captives, Audrey. At least here in
Auradon, we can travel anywhere and everywhere we please.
They can’t.”
Audrey smiled brightly. “Yes, which reminds me. I told
Aziz and Lonnie we would be visiting them today. Carriage
picks us up in an hour.” She leaned forward, touching his chin
with her fingertip. “Time for a new topic. Almost a whole new
world, you could say.”
But Ben had a stubborn streak in him that wouldn’t give it
up. “Don’t try to change the subject, Audrey. Come on. Don’t
you wonder about them at all?”
“The villains?”
“Yeah.”
Audrey sat back, shaking her head. “No. Good riddance.
Mother says one of them tried to put her to sleep for a hundred
years! After she’d already spent her entire childhood in foster
care and protective custody! My own mother! And then that
same horrible woman turned into a dragon who tried to kill
Papa.” She shivered. Audrey must have had heard the story
more times than she cared to say, Ben understood, but she’d
never mentioned any of it to him before today.
He didn’t blame Audrey for not wanting to talk about it,
and he softened his voice now, taking her hand.
“Her name is Maleficent,” said Ben, who had studied his
fairy-tale history. His mother had read the old tales to him,
before he could even read himself. “She was the Mistress of
Darkness, the most evil fairy who has ever lived.”
Audrey’s frown deepened. “Don’t say her name here,” she
whispered. It was practically a hiss, she was so upset. “She
might hear you—and curse you! She takes away everyone and
everything my family loves.”
 Now it was Ben’s turn to smile. “No way—that dome will
hold them forever.” He leaned forward. “And who exactly
does your family love?”
Audrey smiled in return. One blink, and the storm in her
eyes was gone.
“My family loves all who are good and kind and deserving
of such love, Your Highness.” She held up her delicate hand,
and he kissed it obligingly.
I shouldn’t give her such a hard time, Ben thought. Not
after everything her family has been through.
“Dance with me, sweet prince,” she urged.
Ben stood up and bowed. “Happy to please my lady.”
Dancing in the forest was her favorite thing to do, he knew.
Ben held her in his arms. She was beautiful. Perfect. A
princess, who was in love with him. And he was in love with
her…wasn’t he?
Audrey sang softly, I know you, I walked with you, Once
upon a dream…
It was their song, but this time, it caught him off guard.
With a start, Ben realized he didn’t know her. Not really.
He didn’t know her soul, her dreams, and she didn’t know his.
They didn’t really know each other.
And worse, he had never dreamt about her. Not once.
For Audrey, that song might be about him. But for Ben,
that song wasn’t about her.
No.
Not Audrey.
He had dreamt about another girl.
One with purple hair and green eyes glittering in the dark,
a sly smile of mischief on her lips.
Who was she? Where was she? Would he ever meet her?
And would he ever get her out of his head?
 Ben closed his eyes and tried to focus on the melody and
the girl right in front of him, but the memory of the girl from
his dream was too hard to forget.
For the next several hours, Mal, Jay, and Evie helped Carlos
with the painstaking task of finishing his mother’s laundry. Or,
to be more specific, Jay and Evie helped Carlos, while Mal
“supervised.”
For a woman who lived on a semideserted island full of
ex-villains, Cruella sure had an elaborate wardrobe, Mal
thought. There were fringed scarves and silky black gloves,
fishnet stockings and slinky black dresses, chubby wraps and
whisper-knit cardigans, bulky coats and frilly corsets. Cruella
De Vil might be exiled, but that didn’t mean her clothes were
going to be anything less than stunning.
Mal looked around at Evie, who was humming as she
folded black-and-white towels. The blue-haired princess had
been relatively easy to sway, which boded well for when they
actually found the scepter. Mal would make sure Evie would
be the first one to touch it, absorbing the curse and falling
asleep for a thousand years. It was the evil scheme to end all
evil schemes, and Mal was looking forward to sweet revenge,
as well as picking up straight E’s for the semester.
Meanwhile, Jay was up to his elbows in suds washing a
number of black-and-white sweatshirts.
 “Isn’t this a lot of work?” she asked, feeling exhausted just
from watching everyone.
Carlos nodded, his mouth full of safety pins.
“And you do it all?” she asked Carlos. Her mother might
ignore her and resent her and scold her, but at least she wasn’t
Maleficent’s virtual slave.
Carlos nodded again. He pulled the safety pins out of his
mouth and explained that he was pinning a bustier on a hanger
just the way Cruella’s old favorite drycleaner in London had.
“Yes. But you get used to it, I guess. Don’t worry, we’re
almost all done.”
“Thank goblins” said Mal, putting her feet up on a nearby
ottoman.
But just as they were putting the finishing touches on the
last batch of black-and-white clothing and linens, they heard
the roar of a car engine. It screeched to a stop in front of Hell
Hall.
Carlos began to shake. “It’s her…Mother…she’s back…
she wasn’t supposed to be back till tomorrow. The Spa must
have dried up.”
Mal wasn’t sure why Carlos was so jumpy. No one was as
scary as her mother after all—what on earth could he be so
freaked out about?
A car door slammed, and a heavy accent raspy from too
much smoke and yelling rang through the air. “Carlos! Carlos!
My baby!” Cruella cried, her throaty voice ringing through the
house.
Mal looked at Carlos. My baby? That didn’t sound too bad,
now, did it?
“My baby needs a bath!”
“She knows you’re dirty from out there?” Evie asked,
confused.
Carlos turned red again. “She doesn’t mean me,” he
whispered hoarsely. “She means her car. She’s telling me to
give it a wash.”
 Evie turned away from the window with a horrified look
on her face. “But it’s so filthy! It’ll take hours!” The red car
was splattered with dirt from driving around town, crusted
black and disgusting.
“No way are we cleaning that,” muttered Jay, who couldn’t
be looking forward to washing one more thing.
The four of them crept out of the laundry area and into the
main room.
Cruella stopped short at the sight of three strange scraggly
teenagers in her house. She still wore her hair in a frizzy
black-and-white do. Her long, fur coat trailed on the floor
behind her, and she was sucking on a slender black cigarette
holder.
Mal gave her a disapproving glance, and Cruella shrugged.
“It’s vapor. Just vapor, darling.”
Mal waved the vapor away.
“Now, enough about my baby, how is my one true love?”
Cruella drawled, puffing on her long vapor wand.
The three teenagers turned to Carlos questioningly, but
even he looked astounded to hear himself described in such
affectionate terms. “Your one true love?” he almost
stammered.
“Why, yes, my one true love. My furs!” Cruella laughed.
“You’ve been taking good care of them haven’t you, darling?”
“Of course,” Carlos said, reddening again.
Mal knew he was kicking himself. But what did it matter if
his mother loved him or not? They’d been taught that love was
for the weak, for the silly, for the good. Love was not for the
likes of them. They were villains. The bad guys. The only
thing they loved was a wicked plan.
“Who are these clowns?” Cruella demanded, waving her
arms toward the group.
“They’re my…” Carlos stammered.
 Mal knew he couldn’t say friends, because they weren’t
friends, not really. She had bullied him into going with her on
a quest, Evie pitied him, and Jay was there only so he could
attempt to steal the chandelier.
Either Cruella didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Where’re Jace
and Harry?” she asked.
Carlos shrugged.
“Hi, Mrs. De Vil, I’m—” Evie said, offering her hand.
“I know who you are,” Cruella said dismissively.
Mal thought it was interesting that everyone knew who
Evie was, even though she’d been kept in a castle for a decade.
“Hey,” said Mal.
“Oh, hello, Mal—tell your mother I send my love,
darling,” Cruella said, gesturing with her vapor cigarette and
then turning to glare at Jay. “And you, tell your father he
ripped me off with that lamp he sold me—the thing doesn’t
work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jay saluted.
“Well, what are you all standing here for? Didn’t you hear
me? My baby’s dirty, darlings! It’s absolutely wretched! I can’t
live another minute until you give my baby a bath! Now,
scram!”
Evie thought they would be stuck at Cruella’s forever, but at
long last the car was clean, and the foursome arrived at
Dragon Hall in search of a map that would hopefully show
them where the Forbidden Fortress was hidden on the island.
Carlos’s compass would help, but if Jafar was right about the
island being much bigger than they thought, they would need
to be pointed in the right direction first.
Evie still wasn’t sure why she had agreed to go with the
group. She knew Mal was being false, but part of her was
interested in the adventure. After being cooped up in a castle
for ten years, she was curious to see the rest of the island.
The school was dead as a ghost town that Saturday
afternoon; only a goblin crew had arrived to clean the halls
and mow the grass around the tombstones. The four villain
kids walked in and descended into the gloom of campus. The
hallways were lined with overgrown ivy that seemed to be
multiplying by the second, snaking around old portraits of evil
villains nobody could name anymore. Evie could’ve sworn
their eyes followed her as she trotted past.
They found Dr. Facilier at his desk, staring into an empty
crystal ball.
“Ahh, if it isn’t my least-favorite student,” he said when he
saw Mal.
“Relax, Dr. F, I’m not here to fill your top hat with crickets
again.”
“What a relief,” he said coldly. “How can I help you?”
“We need to get into the forbidden library,” Mal said. “The
Athenaeum of Secrets.”
“Ah, but there’s a reason it’s called the forbidden library—
because students are expressly forbidden to enter,” he said
sternly.
Evie thought Mal would give up, but instead Mal hopped
up on Dr. Facilier’s desk, cool as Lucifer. “Yeah, about that,”
she said, plopping down a pack of tarot cards. “Entrance fee?”
Dr. F picked a few up and held them under the dim reading
light beside him. “The Major Arcana. Impressive.” He
pocketed the tarot set and studied the four students in front of
him. “What exactly are you looking for in the library?”
“A map of the island,” said Mal. “And make it quick, will
you? I haven’t got all day.”
The giant spider guarding the door moved away as docile as a
cat when Dr. Facilier tickled its belly. The door to the Library
of Forbidden Secrets opened with a rusty squeak, and Dr. F
escorted the four of them through.
Tall, teetering bookshelves housed tattered, waterlogged
leather-bound books, covered with twenty years’ worth of
dust, as well as beakers and vials filled with strange-looking
liquids and potions. As Dr. Facilier scurried down the dingy
corridors before them, moving through the rows of
bookshelves and muttering under his breath, they were only
able to make out the faint outline of his glowing candle,
casting shadows against the library walls.
“You know he’s got bat poop for brains, right? This could
all be for nothing,” Jay whispered.
Mal shot him a look.
“Just saying,” said Jay.
“It’s worth a try,” Evie said from behind them, stopping
briefly to untangle herself from a cobweb. “Otherwise, we’ll
just be wandering around in the dark, like we are now.”
“Yeah, it couldn’t hurt,” agreed Carlos. He was holding his
machine protectively under his jacket.
“Aha! Here we are,” Dr. Facilier announced, stopping in
front of a row of cases. He pulled out a yellowing rolled-up
piece of parchment from one of the dusty shelves. He
smoothed out the paper and placed it on a lopsided worktable
while the four of them gathered around.
“Um, there’s nothing there,” Evie pointed out, her voice
small. It was true, the map was blank.
“Well, it was written in invisible ink, of course,” Dr.
Facilier said as if everybody knew this. “How’s a secret
supposed to stay a secret, otherwise?”
Without warning, and to the shock of everyone around,
Mal grabbed him by the collar and pushed him up against one
of the bookcases, which caused several of the vials to fall and
shatter to the floor. “Why, you little rat, have you forgotten
who my mother is and how she can have you and everyone on
this filthy island…”
“Mal!” Evie said in a shocked tone. “Stop it!” She put a
hand on Dr. Facilier’s trembling arm. “Let me handle this.”
Mal turned to her. “Let you what?”
“Handle this. Easier to catch flies with honey than
vinegar,” she said. “Go on, let go, gently, gently.”
 Mal slowly let go of Dr. Facilier, whose knees would have
given out if Evie hadn’t caught him. “Now, Dr. F, there has to
be a way to make the ink visible, doesn’t there?”
Dr. Facilier mopped his sweaty brow with a raggedy silk
handkerchief. “Yes, there is.”
“Good,” said Evie. “Now, tell us how.”
The headmaster pointed shakily to the vials that had
shattered on the ground. “The antidote was kept there. But
now it’s gone.”
Evie glanced at Mal, who looked stricken. Mal put her
head in her hands and groaned.
“Uh, Mal?” Carlos asked softly, tapping her shoulder.
“Go away, Spotty,” she snapped.
“Listen. I know how to make the elixir. To see the ink.”
They all turned to him, including Dr. Facilier. “You can do
magic?” Mal asked. “But how?”
“No, no, it’s not magic, it’s just a little chemistry—you
know, Weird Science,” Carlos said. “Come on. Evie, bring the
map.”
They left Dr. Facilier back in his office giving himself a tarot
reading, and followed Carlos to the Chem Lab, where they
watched him pull various bottles, beakers, and powders off the
shelves.
“You’re sure this isn’t magic?” asked Jay skeptically.
“I’m sure. It’s science. Like what humans have to do.”
Carlos mixed a few drops of liquid here, a dash of powder
here…but then he frowned. “Wait a minute, I can’t find the
binder.”
“The what?”
“Reza—he must have stolen it from the lab last week! He
hates me. Ugh.” Carlos’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry, Mal. I
don’t think I can do it, after all. Not without the thing that puts
it all together and sparks the chemical reaction.”
 “Reza stole a vial from the lab?” Jay asked.
“He must have,” said Carlos. “It’s not here.”
“This vial, perhaps?” Jay grinned, holding up a small
stoppered test tube filled with sparkly liquid that he had shown
Mal earlier.
“Where’d you get that?!”
“From Reza’s backpack. Takes one to know one,” said Jay.
Carlos poured a few droplets into his beaker and mixed it
all together. A puff a smoke blew out. “Voilà,” he said.
“Antidote to invisible ink.” He poured the mixture over the
map.
And just like magic, the Isle of the Lost began to form
before their eyes, including the hidden and forbidden zones.
The Forbidden Fortress appeared, a menacing-looking castle
of spiky walls and twisty towers, located on the edge of the
island. Right in the middle of Nowhere.
Mal thought Jay’s having the secret vial on hand was a
pretty decent stroke of luck, which made her think that maybe
they were on to something here. Maybe it was her destiny to
find Maleficent’s Dragon’s Eye. “Do you have the compass?”
she asked Carlos.
Carlos nodded. The box beeped, as if to agree.
According to the map they would have to walk way past
the village right to the edge of the shore, and from there the
path would take them to the fortress.
They set off, Carlos in front with Jay, Evie just behind, and
Mal holding up the rear. She watched them walk in front of
her. She knew Jay would steal the Dragon’s Eye for himself at
the first opportunity, that Evie was trying to get on her good
side and curry favor, and that Carlos had only joined them to
fulfill his curiosity.
But it didn’t matter. Somehow, they all had a common
goal. To find the Dragon’s Eye. Better yet, she wasn’t going
into Nowhere alone.
Mal had her gang of thieves.
Her very own minions.
And that was progress indeed.
 Her evil scheme—the big nasty one—was working.
The path away from the village and toward the shore was
smooth at first, but soon became rocky. Mal began to flag. Her
feet hurt in her boots, but she soldiered on grimly, now leading
the way and following the directions on the map. Behind her
she could hear Evie’s light steps, Jay’s stomping ones, and
Carlos’s tentative ones.
“Heigh ho, heigh ho, it’s off to work we go,” Carlos sang
under his breath.
Evie shuddered. “Don’t.”
“What do you have against dwar—Oh, right,” he said.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“So that was your mom, huh?” said Evie.
“Yup, the one and only Cruella De Vil,” Carlos said,
bypassing some poison ivy and pointing it out to the rest of the
group to avoid. “One-way ticket to crazy town, right?”
“She’s not so bad,” said Evie, who ducked below a low-
hanging branch of a creepy oak tree. “At least she doesn’t do
this thing that my mom does, where she pretends to be a
Magic Mirror telling me I’m far from the fairest of the land.”
Carlos stopped in his tracks, and he and Jay looked at her,
shocked. Even Mal turned around to stare at her.
“Really? But you’re gorgeous,” Jay said. “I mean, you’re
not my type, sweetheart, but you’ve got to know you’re good-
looking.”
“Do you really think so?” she asked.
“Nah, you’re mom’s right—you’re ugly,” Jay teased.
“That sucks that she does that,” said Carlos quietly.
“Whatever,” Evie said nonchalantly. “It’s not like I care.”
“You really mean that?” asked Carlos.
“I mean, it’s not like your mom is any different, right?”
Evie pointed out. They were the children of the most evil
villains in the world. What did they expect: love, joy,
sympathy?
“I guess not.”
“And your dad, Jay? Doesn’t he only care about the shop?”
Jay brooded on that. “Yeah, of course. But what else is he
supposed to care about?” he asked honestly.
Mal listened to their conversation, finding it oddly
soothing to have other people around, for once. She’d never
really liked companionship before; but then again, Maleficent
had always insisted that they lived apart from the pack—
superior, alone, and bent on revenge.
Lonely, Mal thought. I was lonely. And so were they.
Evie, with her beauty-obsessed mother; Carlos, with his
screeching harpy of a parent; Jay, the happy-go-lucky thief
with a quick wit and dashing smile, who could steal anything
in the world except his father’s heart.
The gray fog surrounding the edge of the shore loomed
closer. Soon they would have to walk through the mist and
enter Nowhere. When they did, would they also become
nobody? Mal wondered. She cracked her knuckles. Her knees
began to ache.
They trudged on in silence for a while, when a sharp whistle
cut through the air. It was from Jay, who had been scouting
ahead. Evie took a step and crunched twigs loudly underfoot,
while Carlos looked up fearfully.
Mal whistled back.
Jay jogged to where the three of them were huddled
together.
“What is it?” Mal hissed.
“I saw something—in the shadow. Hide!” he whispered
fiercely, disappearing behind a rock.
Carlos yelped and tried to climb a tree, the bark scratching
his knees. Evie screamed softly and dove behind some
blackberry bushes.
 But Mal froze in place. She couldn’t move, for some
reason. At first it was because she felt annoyed to think that
any daughter of Maleficent would have to hide from anything.
But as the shadow loomed larger and approached, she worried
she had made the wrong decision.
The shadow had a pair of large horns and a spiky tail. Was
it a dragon? But her mother was the only dragon in these parts,
and had lost the ability to transform into one, once the magic-
shielding dome had been put in place.
Then there was a moan, a terrible wailing unlike anything
they had ever heard.
It was a hellhound, for sure. A creature of myth and
legend, a creature of tooth and fang, blood and fur.
Then the creature emitted what could only be called an
adorable purr.
“Beelzebub!” Carlos cried from the tree.
The monster emerged from the shadows, and a little black
cat with a wicked grin appeared on the path. The shadow had
distorted its ears to look like horns and its tail to appear as if it
had spikes. But it was just a little kitty.
“You know this foul beast?” asked Mal contemptuously, to
hide her embarrassment at having been scared. Her heart was
still beating loudly in her chest.
“It’s just my cat,” Carlos said. “I got her when I was little.”
He added sheepishly, “She’s one of Lucifer’s litter. She’s my
evil sidekick.”
“Oh, cool. I got one too. You know, at my birthday party,”
said Evie. “Mine is Othello, a baby parrot—well, not such a
baby anymore. Othello’s got quite the mouth on him too. Not
sure where he learned all those words.”
“Cool—you got one of Iago’s babies? I got two electric
eels—Lagan and Derelict. You know, from Flotsam and
Jetsam. They’re huge now. Monsters,” said Jay. “They hardly
fit in their aquarium anymore.”
 Carlos let the cat rub his cheek. “Go on, Bee. Go back
home, stop following us. I’ll be back soon—don’t worry.”
“What’s your evil sidekick?” Evie asked, turning to Mal.
Mal colored. She remembered exactly when they had each
received their sidekicks—at that fabulous party long ago, to
which she had not been invited. “I don’t have one,” she said
shortly.
“Oh!” said Evie, and turned away, looking embarrassed.
Don’t worry, thought Mal. You’ll pay soon enough.
Finally they stood face-to-face with the gray fog that circled
the island and marked the edge of Nowhere. The mist was so
thick, it was impossible to see what lay beyond it. It would
have entailed a walk of faith to see what was on the other side.
And all their lives, the four had been told to keep away from
the fog, to stay back from the edge of the gray.
“Who goes first?” asked Jay.
“Not me,” said Evie.
“Nor me,” said Carlos.
“Duh,” sniffed Mal. “As if either of you would.”
“Mal?” asked Jay. “After you?”
Mal bit her lip. It was, after all, her quest. “Yeah. I’ll go,
cowards.” She squared her shoulders and tensed. She stepped
into the fog. It was like walking through a cold rain, and she
shivered. She reminded herself that there was no magic on the
island, and that nothing could hurt her; but even so, the gray
darkness was impenetrable, and for a moment she felt like
screaming.
Then she was on the other side.
Still whole.
Not disintegrated.
Not nothing.
She exhaled. “It’s fine,” she called. “Get over here!”
“If she says so,” muttered Jay. Evie followed, then Carlos.
 Finally the four of them were on the other side of the fog,
standing at the edge of Nowhere.
“Whoa,” said Carlos.
They all looked down. They were standing literally at the
water’s edge. One more step, and they would have fallen off
the rocky piece of land that was the Isle of the Lost and into
the deep sea below, to become an alligator’s dinner.
“Holy Lucifer, what the heck are we supposed to do now?”
Mal asked.
“I don’t know, but this thing won’t shut up,” Carlos said. It
was true. The compass in his box was beeping wildly now, and
the closer Carlos stepped toward the strip of rocky, foggy
beach, the faster it beeped. “It’s over there. It has to be,” he
said, pointing to the sea.
“Well, I forgot my swimsuit and I don’t really enjoy being
eaten by reptiles, so it’s all on you guys,” Jay said, backing
away from the water.
“It can’t be in the water,” Mal said, yanking out the map
from her pocket. She gasped. “Guys. Come here.” They all
gathered around Mal. “Look! There’s more!” More ink had
appeared, and this time, they saw that the fortress wasn’t
technically on the Isle of the Lost at all but was located on its
own island, or rather its own piece of floating rock, which just
so happened to be named the Isle of the Doomed.
“Well, that’s cheery,” Carlos said.
“And just how are we supposed to get over there?” Evie
asked.
Mal studied the map and pointed to a spot labeled GOBLIN
WHARF.

“We’ll hitch a ride from one of our friendly neighborhood

goblins to row us over, of course,” Mal said, pushing past
them and starting up the muddy beach toward the docks where
the goblins unloaded the Auradon barges.
“There’s no such thing as a friendly goblin,” Carlos sighed,
but like the rest of them, he followed behind Mal.
They arrived quickly at the busy port. Mostly because the
alligators had taken to snapping at them from the shallow
water by the beach, and they’d sprinted, screaming, toward the
dock.
The wharf was bustling with activity. Goblins pushed their
way past the foursome, emptying cargo from the big Auradon
ships that were allowed in and out of the magic dome. They
placed the rotting and rotten goods onto the splintering
wooden boardwalk and jumped on and off each other’s
makeshift rafts and boats. They hooted and hollered in their
Goblin tongue, tossing bags of scraps and leftovers—clothing,
food, cosmetics, electronics, everything the people on
Auradon didn’t want anymore or had no use for, onto teetering
rickshaws to sell at the market.
“We’ll need to pay for passage,” Mal said. “They’re not
going to take us over there for free.”
The four of them emptied their pockets to pool enough of a
sum of trinkets and food to pay their way across to the Isle of
the Doomed. It took some haggling—Jay did most of the
talking as he spoke a bit of Goblin from having worked at the
shop—but they finally secured a spot on a scrap boat. That is,
a boat that collected anything and everything that fell off the
Auradon Dumpsters. It was a scavenger of scavengers, the
lowest of the bottom feeders.
As it turned out, a goblin’s boat was not constructed to
hold four teenage villains. The floating wooden box creaked
and groaned as Mal and the others boarded.
“If I die,” Jay said darkly, “you still can’t have any of my
stuff.”
“We’ll be fine,” Evie said. But she seemed to say it more
for her own benefit than anyone else’s.
The goblin snickered and started the ancient, rusty motor,
and off they went into the thick fog.
It was odd to see the Isle of the Lost from the water. It
almost looked…pretty, Mal thought. The forest was lush and
green around the edges of the island, and the rocky beach
jutted out dramatically into a rolling blanket of navy-blue
water. In the distance, she could see Bargain Castle. From far
away, it seemed to be gleaming in the fading sunlight.
“Funny how different things look from far away, huh?”
Evie said, following Mal’s gaze back toward Isle of the Lost.
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Mal said, turning her back on
Evie. That same ache was settling in her gut again, and she
didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.
Mal could only be sure they’d arrived at the Isle of the
Doomed because the engine had stopped. They still couldn’t
see five feet in front of them. Mal scrambled blindly out of the
boat and onto the rocky beach, followed quickly by the rest of
the team. The goblin quickly sped off.
The fog lifted slightly as they made their way through the
brush. Soon they were standing in front of a gate covered with
a painful-looking bristly forest of thorns. And beyond the gate,
high on a craggy mountaintop, stood a large black castle, a
ruined, forbidding wreck silhouetted against the night sky.
The thorns around the gate grew thick and twisted, so
sharp, they would stab or scrape anyone who dared come near.
Worse, the thorns were covered with deadly poisonous spiders;
and the whole place had a toxic and sinister air.
They stood, paralyzed, unable and unwilling to figure out
what to do next, while the black box in Carlos’s hands kept
beeping incessantly. If it was indeed communicating with the
Dragon’s Eye, it was clear that the scepter was somewhere
behind the thorny gates.
Mal scrunched up her face, frustrated.
It was Jay who broke the silence.
He handed Mal and Evie each a silver dagger, and Carlos
some bug spray. He himself hauled a red-handled machete.
“You carry an ax in your pocket?” asked Carlos.
“Who doesn’t?” Jay said with a smile. “When you steal
enough things from all over the place, I find that you always
arrive prepared.”
 Mal had to admit that Jay’s loot came in handy right then.
Jay hacked a path with his machete, and the others
followed close behind. Mal slashed at a branch of thorns with
her silver dagger, and the branch withered and shrank from her
knife. Evie did the same on the other side, and Carlos sprayed
a hairy tarantula with his spray, so that it fell off a branch,
dead.
It would be hard work, but they were used to it by now.
Deeper they went into the dark forest, making their way to the
castle above.
Just be yourself, there are other ways to show strength than
your father’s kind. Ben’s mother’s words rang in Ben’s ears as
he sat down to meet with Grumpy, who had been elected to
represent the dwarfs and sidekicks in their petitions.
Great. Wonderful. Just perfect. A one-on-one with Grumpy.
Ben shook his head. He suspected anyone else would have
been a better person to negotiate with than the crabby old
dwarf.
Last time they’d met, the infamous dwarf had been
insulted by a sugar cookie.
These talks were doomed.
Ben wished that people would stop telling him to be
himself. It sounded like such simple advice—and maybe it
would have been, if he had had any idea who himself was.
But who was he?
Prince Ben, son of King Beast, heir to the throne of the
great kingdom of Auradon?
He was certainly nothing like his father, who knew how to
enforce his rule without forcing it on his subjects. Ben cringed
to recall how he had stood on the table and yelled.
 That wasn’t who he was.
He was Prince Ben, son of King Beast and Queen Belle,
heir to the throne of the great kingdom of Auradon.
And if, like his father, he was meant to inherit the throne—
then it would be on his own terms, as his mother’s son and not
just as his father’s heir.
Because, like his mother, Ben was quiet and gentle and
loved nothing better than to disappear into a great, thick book.
His childhood hadn’t been about hunting or sword-fighting or
besting someone else on the field.
It had been spent in a library.
He shared his mother’s love of reading, and he always had.
Ben’s fondest memories were of sitting next to Queen Belle at
the hearth of her magnificent library’s enormous fireplace,
reading by her side. He’d be digging into a pile of books
dragged from the lower shelves, while hers were always taken
from the very highest. It was paradise.
Once, when his father had discovered they had spent the
entire day hiding in the library and scolded them for skipping
out on a royal luncheon banquet “for the sake of a story,” his
mother had mounted a passionate defense.
“But these aren’t just stories,” she’d said. “They’re whole
kingdoms. They’re worlds. They’re perspectives and opinions
you can’t offer, from lives you haven’t lived. They’re more
valuable than any gold coin, and more important than any state
luncheon. I should hope you, as king, would know that!”
King Beast’s eyes had twinkled, and he had lifted Queen
Belle into his powerful arms with one easy motion. “And, as
you’re my queen, I should hope you would know how much I
love you for that!” Then he’d gathered up his young son, and
the three of them had made a late lunch of cream cakes in the
garden.
Of course.
Ben smiled. He hadn’t thought about that day in a long
time.
 He found himself thinking of it still as Lumiere ushered
the older dwarf into the conference room.
Grumpy nodded to him and took a seat across from the
prince, his short legs swinging like a child’s. “What’s this all
about, young man?” He coughed. “I’m not in the mood for any
of your tantrums.” He eyed the table uneasily, as if the boy
was about to leap upon it, even now. The plate of sugar
cookies and the goblet of cider in front of him, he left
untouched.
“Thank you for meeting me today,” said Ben. “I thought
this might be easier, if it was just the two of us talking. Since
everything got a bit—loud—before.”
“Hem,” said Grumpy. “We’ll see about that. You don’t
plan to hop on the table again or shout like an animal, do
you?”
Ben flushed. “I apologize for my behavior the other day. I
was…a fool.”
“You—What?” Grumpy was caught off guard.
Ben shrugged. “I admit it. I didn’t know what I was doing,
and I made a mess of everything. And I certainly don’t blame
you for not wanting to take me seriously now.”
Grumpy looked at him grumpily, if a little pleasantly
surprised. “Go on.”
Ben smiled. It was a start, and he’d take it.
“You see, I called you in because I read all one thousand
and one pages of your complaint.”
“Really? All one thousand?” asked Grumpy, sounding
impressed in spite of himself.
“And one.” Ben smiled again. He was a fast reader, and a
concerned listener, and if he was truly going to be himself, he
was going to need to use both talents in his favor to settle this
complaint once and for all.
“From what I could gather, it appears what you and your
colleagues are demanding is to be heard, and to have a voice in
your future. Something more than just a seat at the Council.”
 “It’s not that much to ask is it?” asked Grumpy keenly.
“No, it’s not,” Ben acknowledged. “And I think we can
come to a simple agreement.”
“What do you propose?”
Ben shuffled the papers. He thought about it, and about
how to say it. How had his mother put it? Perspectives and
opinions I can’t offer, from lives I haven’t lived.
Ben smiled. “I propose listening to the people who know
best.”
Grumpy raised an eyebrow.
Ben consulted his notes. “Let’s start with the mermaids.
They should charge a silver coin for every undersea tour. And
I’ll talk to Ariel about giving Flounder’s collecting for Ariel a
break.”
Grumpy nodded. “Sounds reasonable. Okay.”
“I’ve also set up a college fund for the Dalmatians—all
one hundred and one of them will be eligible for financial aid
through the Puppy Grant.” Ben pushed a black-and-white-
spotted folder that contained all the pertinent forms across the
table.
Grumpy accepted it. “Pongo will appreciate that,” said
Grumpy. “But what about us miners?”
“Half of everything you mine must still remain the
property of the kingdom,” said Ben. He knew his father would
settle for no less.
“Half? What about the rest of the diamonds? Where does
that go?” asked Grumpy, sounding alarmed.
“The other half will go to a 401D Fund. A retirement fund
for dwarfs, to take care of your families and your children. Tell
Bashful not to worry.”
“Sounds fair enough.” Grumpy nodded, in spite of himself.
“What about the restriction of magic? Just between you and
me, those three fairies make a lot of noise.”
 “The three good fairies will have to take their complaint up
with the Fairy Godmother. I can’t do anything about it myself,
I’m afraid. But I’ll get them a meeting with her. That much I
can do.”
“And Genie’s request for unlimited travel within the
kingdom?” Grumpy frowned. At this point, he looked like he
was struggling to find things to still be grumpy about.
“Approved, so long as he clears his itinerary with the
palace beforehand.” That was a difficult concession to make,
as his father did not want the “blue-skinned-maniac popping
up everywhere without notice,” but he had been able to
convince King Beast that as long as the subjects were warned
about Genie’s arrival, all would be well.
Grumpy folded his arms. “What about the woodland
creatures? They’re working their paws and hooves to the
bone.”
“I’ve had a team install dishwashers, washer-dryers, and
vacuum cleaners in every household. It’s time we realized
we’re living in the twenty-first century, don’t you think?
Forest woodlands included?”
“Meh,” said Grumpy. “I don’t care much for modernity,
but I think our furry friends will appreciate it. It’s hard to do
dishes by hand, without, you know, hands.”
Ben tried not to laugh.
“As for Mary and the mice, from now on, they will be well
compensated with the finest cheese in the kingdom, from the
king’s own larders.” Ben let the last paper drop.
“Fair enough.” Grumpy nodded.
“So we have a deal?”
Grumpy put out his hand. “Deal.”
Ben shook it. He was more relieved than he let on. (At
least, he hoped he wasn’t letting it on. At this point he was
sweating so much, he couldn’t be entirely certain.)
“You know what, young man?” huffed Grumpy with a
frown.
 Ben steeled himself for a grouchy comment, but none
came.
“You’re going to make a good king,” the dwarf said with a
smile. “Give your father my best, and send your mother my
love.”
“I will,” said Ben, pleased by how well the meeting had
turned out. He pushed his own chair back from the ancient
table. His work was done, at least for today. But if this is what
being king is all about, then maybe it isn’t as hard as I
thought.
The dwarf picked up his stocking cap and hopped down
from his seat, turning toward the council-room door.
Then he paused.
“You know, son, sometimes you remind me of her.” Queen
Belle was much beloved in the kingdom.
Ben smiled. “You know, I really hope I do.”
Grumpy shrugged, pushing open the door. “Not nearly so
pretty, though. I’ll tell you that much. And your mother, she
would have made sure we had a cream cake or two. And at
least a few currants in the cookies.”
Ben laughed as the door slammed shut.
Every moment of this adventure had already proven to be a
little more adventurous than Carlos had anticipated.
This revelation might have been a problem for the average
man of science who didn’t like to run the tombs and who kept
to the labs as much as possible. Sure, Carlos had felt a little
seasick on the journey over to the Isle of the Doomed, but he’d
been able to hold it down, hadn’t he?
If he looked at it like that, he’d already proven himself to
be a better adventurer than anyone could have reasonably
expected.
That’s what Carlos told himself, anyway.
Then he told himself that he’d done better than anyone else
in Weird Science would have. He actually laughed out loud at
the thought of his classroom nemesis in this current situation,
which had prompted Jay to shove him and ask if he didn’t
think he was taking the whole mad scientist thing a little too
literally.
“I’m not crazy,” Carlos reassured his fellow adventurers.
Still, willing himself not to yak into the churning sea itself had
required more than his share of exhausting determination, and
by the time the four of them were back on land and all the way
clear of the thorn forest—no worse for wear save for a few
scratches and itchy elbows—Carlos was more than glad to find
a real path leading up to the dark castle on the hill above them.
Plain old dirt and rock had never looked so good.
Until it began to rain, and the dirt became mud, and the
rock became slippery.
At least it wasn’t the sea, Carlos consoled himself. And the
odds of a person actually drowning in mud and rocks were
incredibly slim.
Besides, his invention was now beeping at regular
intervals, its sensor light flashing more brightly and more
quickly with every step that drew them closer to the fortress.
“The Dragon’s Eye is definitely up there,” Carlos said
excitedly, feeling a scientist’s enthusiasm at a working
experiment. “If this thing is right, I’m picking up on some kind
of massive surge in electrical energy. If there is a hole in the
dome, it’s leaking magic here somehow, different from the Isle
of the Lost.”
“Maybe the hole is right above this place,” said Evie.
“Yeah, I can feel it too.” Mal nodded, still moving forward
along the path. “Do you guys?” She stopped and looked at
them, shielding her eyes from the rain with one hand.
Carlos looked at her in surprise. “Feel what? This?” He
held up his box, and it beeped in her face. Mal jumped back,
startled, and Jay laughed.
“Whoops,” Carlos said. “See what I mean? The energy is
surging.”
Mal looked embarrassed. “I don’t know for sure. Maybe
I’m imagining it, but it almost feels like there’s some kind of
magnet pulling me up the path.”
“That is so creepy,” Evie said, stopping to wipe sweat off
her forehead with the edge of her cape. “Like, it’s your
destiny, literally, calling.”
“Well,” said Carlos, “no, not really. If it were literally
calling, it would be, you know, calling her.”
 Jay laughed.
Evie glared at him. “Okay, fine. Literally pulling like a
magnet, only not really, because it’s, you know, destiny. Are
you happy now?”
“Literally?” Carlos raised an eyebrow.
Jay laughed again, which made Carlos feel good, though
he couldn’t exactly explain why, not even to himself.
“Don’t you guys feel it?” Mal sounded nervous. Nobody
said anything, and she sighed, turning back to the muddy path.
They’d only made it up past the next curving switchback
in the path when Mal stumbled and fell, sending a slide of rock
down the trail behind her.
“Who-ahh,” Mal yelped, her arms flailing. The dark stones
were so slick with rain that she couldn’t right herself, only
slipping on the rocks again.
Evie caught Mal before she tumbled headfirst down the
stony path. Both girls flew backward into Jay, who almost
toppled Carlos behind him.
“I got you,” said Evie, helping Mal to regain her balance.
“Yeah, and I got you,” Jay said.
“Which is great for everyone but me,” Carlos said, barely
keeping one arm around his device as the other held Jay off
him. “The human doorstop.”
“I am definitely in the wrong shoes for this,” Evie said,
wincing at the sight of her own feet.
“We need flippers, not shoes. The rain has turned this
whole trail into a mud river. Maybe we should all hold hands,”
Jay suggested. “We’ll work better if we’re all together.”
“Did you really just say that?” Mal shook her head,
sounding disgusted. “Why don’t we just sing songs to cheer
each other up and then weave flowers out of the mud and
move to Auradon, while we’re at it?”
“Come on, Mal.” Carlos tried not to smile. He knew that
Mal, of all of them, had the hardest time with anything more
beneficent than Maleficent.
“Do you have a better idea?” Jay looked embarrassed.
“If you wanted to hold my hand, you know, you could
have just asked,” teased Evie, as she offered it to Jay, waggling
her fingers.
“Well, now,” Jay winked. “You don’t say.”
Evie laughed. “Don’t worry, Jay, you’re cute—but thieves
aren’t my style.”
“I wasn’t worried,” said Jay smoothly, grasping her hand
in his firm grip. “I just don’t feel like taking a mud bath
today.”
“From a physics perspective, it does make sense. If you
want to talk about Newton’s second and third laws,” Carlos
added, trying to sound reassuring. “You know, momentum and
force, and all that.”
“What he said.” Jay nodded, holding out his hand to Mal.
Carlos watched him, wondering if Jay and Evie were
flirting, and if that was why Mal seemed mad. No. Mal and
Jay bickered like siblings. And Jay and Evie were just trying
to cover up the fact that they were scared. Jay had told him
earlier that he thought Evie was cute, all right, but he thought
of her like he did Mal, which meant he didn’t think of her at
all. Carlos thought that if the girls were had been their sisters,
Mal would have been their annoying, grumpy sister while Evie
would have been the manipulative, pretty one. And if Jay had
been his brother, he’d be the kind who was either laughing at
you or punching you when he wasn’t busy stealing your stuff.
The longer he thought about it, the more Carlos decided it
wasn’t so bad to be an only child, after all.
“Come on, Mal. Just take it. Even Newton agrees,” Jay
said, wiggling his fingers at Mal, while still grasping Evie’s
hand tightly in his other hand.
Mal gave up with a sigh, grabbing it after only a slight
hesitation. Mal then held her hand out to Carlos, who grabbed
it as if it were a lifesaver, seeing as he knew his physics better
than any of them.
Somewhat awkwardly, and little by little, the four of them
pulled and pushed and helped each other slosh their way up
the muddy path, sweaty palms and muddy ankles and cold feet
and all.
Before long the pathway curved once again, and now the
thick rain cloud surrounding it seemed to part on either side of
the four adventurers, revealing a sudden and dramatic vista—
what appeared to be a long and slender stone bridge, half-
shrouded in mist, that jutted out above a chasm in the rock
directly in front of them.
“It’s beautiful,” Evie said, shivering. “In a really terrifying
way.”
“It’s just a bridge,” Carlos said, holding up his box. “But
we definitely have to cross it. Look—” The light was flashing
so brightly and so quickly now that he covered the sensor with
one hand.
“Duh,” Jay said.
“It’s not just a bridge,” Mal said, in a low voice, staring at
the gray shape in front of her. “It’s her bridge. Maleficent’s
bridge. And it’s pulling me. I have to cross it. It wants me to
get to the other side.”
“It’s not the bridge I’m worried about,” Carlos said,
looking into the distance. “Look!”
Beyond the bridge and mist, a black castle rose from a
pillar of stone. The bridge was the only way to reach the
castle, as sheer cliffs surrounded the black fortress on all other
sides.
But the castle itself was so forbidding, it didn’t exactly
look like a place that wanted to be reached.
“That’s it,” Mal breathed. “That has to be the Forbidden
Fortress.” The darkest place on their dark isle—Maleficent’s
old lair, and ancestral home.
“Sweet,” Jay said. “That’s one sick shack.”
 Evie studied it from behind him, still shivering. “And I
thought our castle was drafty.”
“I can’t believe that we actually found it.” Carlos stared
from his box to the castle. “And I can’t believe it was so close
to the island all along.”
Mal’s eyes were dark, and her expression was impossible
to read. She looked almost stunned, Carlos thought. “I guess
that explains the rain. The Forbidden Fortress hides itself in a
shroud of fog and mist. It’s like a moat, I guess.”
Carlos examined the air around him. “Of course it is. A
defensive mechanism, built into the atmosphere itself.”
“I’m sure my mother designed it to keep everyone she
didn’t want out.”
She didn’t say the rest, so Jay said it for her. “Which
meant, you know, everyone.”
Carlos found it hard to look away from the black tower on
the hill. No wonder the citizens of the Isle of the Lost were
told to keep away. Here was concrete proof of villainy, of the
power of darkness and infamy.
Malefient’s darkness.
It wasn’t just any evil. What loomed in front of them was
the most powerful and most storied darkness in the kingdom.
Carlos suddenly felt it—the magnetic pull Mal had tried to
describe. He could feel it thrumming in the air, in the very
stones beneath his feet. Even if magic was no longer a factor,
there was power here, and history.
“Feel that?” Carlos held his vibrating hand up into the air.
“I can too,” Evie said, picking up a rock from the mud. It
rattled in her fingers as she held it. “Destiny,” she announced
dramatically.
Jay pointed at the lightning that crackled in air above the
black turrets. “Me too. I guess it’s time.”
Mal didn’t say a word. She only stared.
 “Hold on, now. We’re not in any rush,” Carlos said. “We
need to do this right, or—” He didn’t finish the sentence. He
just shrugged.
Then he caught Mal’s gaze and knew she felt the same
way.
“Look,” Jay said, yanking back an armful of overgrown
vines that covered the stony steps leading up to the main ramp
of the bridge. He tossed them to the side.
“What are those horrible, ugly creatures?” Evie made a
face. “No, thanks. I’ll stay on this side of those things.”
Because now that the vines were gone, they could see that
the entire bridge appeared to be guarded by ancient stony
gargoyles. The winged gryphons glared down at them from
where they perched, flanking the bridge on either side.
“Lovely,” Jay said.
Carlos stared. It wasn’t only Mal who could see her
mother’s hand in every stone around them. The carved
creatures sneered in exactly the same way Maleficent did, their
teeth pointed, their mouths cruel.
Mal looked at them, frozen.
Then Carlos realized it was because she was paralyzed by
fear. “Mal?”
She didn’t answer.
She can’t do this alone, Carlos thought. None of us can.
It’s no different from pulling each other through the mud.
It’s just physics, if you think about it. It’s science.
But then Carlos tried not to think about it, because his
heart was pounding so loudly, he thought the others would
hear it. He began to recite the periodic table of the elements in
his head to calm himself down. Atomic numbers and electrons
were always somewhat comforting in times of stress, he’d
found.
And the more numbers he recited, the easier it was to put
one foot in front of the other.
 Which is exactly what he did.
Carlos stepped up on to the first stone paver that led to the
sloping bridge. Just as he did, the stone gargoyles began to
flap their wings in front of them.
“Whoa!” Jay said.
“No,” Evie said. “Just, no.”
“How is this possible?” asked Jay. “There’s no magic on
the island.”
“The hole in the dome,” said Carlos. “It must have sparked
the castle to life or something, like a chemical reaction.” It
made sense—not only had Diablo been unfrozen, but the
whole fortress as well.
Carlos moved his way up the next step, and then the next,
until he was standing level with the main ramp of the bridge
itself. Mal and Evie and Jay now followed behind him.
The creatures growled as they came to life around them,
the bridge rumbling beneath their feet. The gryphons’ horrible
eyes glowed green, illuminating the fog around them, until
they were practically shining a spotlight on the four intruders.
The gargoyles uncurled their hunched backs, now almost
doubling themselves in height.
Evie was right, Carlos thought. They were really ugly
things, with snaggly teeth and forked tongues. He couldn’t
look away from the hideous faces hovering over him. “This
must be residue, left over from the magical years,” he said.
“Whatever did this was probably part of the same power that
sparked Diablo to life.”
“The same power?” Mal looked spellbound. “You mean,
my mother’s?”
“Or the same electromagnetic wave.” Carlos thought about
his last Weird Science class. “I’m not sure how to tell the
difference anymore.”
Jay swallowed as a gargoyle leaned down, looking as if it
could spring at Carlos at any moment. “Right now, I’m pretty
sure the difference doesn’t matter.”
 “Who goes there?” boomed the gargoyle to the right of
Carlos.
“You cannot pass,” said the one on his left.
“Yeah? Says who?” Carlos took a step back, as did the rest
of the group following behind him. They looked at each other
nervously, unsure of what to do next. They hadn’t known
about the gargoyles, hadn’t expected a fight. This was going to
be more difficult than they expected, maybe even impossible.
But it didn’t matter. Even Carlos knew there was no
turning back now.
“You ugly things need to move!” said Mal, shouting from
behind him. She glared at the gryphons. “Or I’m going to
make you!”
The gargoyles growled and grimaced, flapping their stone
wings as a threat.
“Any ideas?” Carlos looked over his shoulder nervously.
“We don’t have weapons or magic. What would we fight with?
Besides, how do we fight something made of stone?”
“There has to be a way,” Mal said. “We have to pass!” she
shouted again. “Let us through!”
“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s working.” Evie sighed.
The gargoyles glared at the children with glowing eyes,
their fangs bared, their stony wings beating the wind. “You
cannot pass,” they said again in unison—and just as the
creatures spoke, the thick gray clouds surrounding the long
stone ramp dissipated, revealing a gap in the bridge, a forty-
foot gulf with nothing below but air.
The bridge was broken, virtually impassable.
“Great,” Jay said. “So it’s over. Fine. Whatever. Can we go
now?”
The others just stared.
Carlos had to admit Jay was probably right.
There was no apparent way to reach the castle. They had
come all this way only to fail. Even if they could pass the
gargoyles, there was no way to cross the bridge since there
was no bridge. It was hopeless. Their journey was ended
before it had truly begun.
Carlos stepped back and noticed something carved in the
stones at the foot of the bridge. He sat down to read it.
“What is it?” Mal asked, kneeling next to him.
He brushed away the dirt and moss to reveal a sentence
carved in the stones: Ye who trespass the bridge must earn the
right of way.
“Great. So what are those, like, directions?” Mal looked at
the others. “What does that mean? How do we earn the right of
way?”
Evie shook her head as she glanced back up at the
gargoyles and the broken bridge. “I don’t know, Mal. We don’t
seem to have earned anything.”
“And technically, we are trespassers,” Jay said.
Evie frowned. “I think we should go. Maybe the bridge
was destroyed—maybe it’s been like this for years. Maybe no
one gets in and out now.”
“No. Those words have to mean something. But is it a
riddle, or a warning?” Mal asked. She looked at the gap in the
bridge and pushed her way past the others, toward the edge.
She was determined to figure it out.
“What are you doing?” Carlos yelled. “Mal, wait! You’re
not thinking straight.”
But she couldn’t wait, and she didn’t stop.
He took a step back, Jay and Evie flanking him. “Go after
her,” Carlos said. “Pull her from the break in the stone before
she falls. This is crazy.”
Jay nodded and followed her.
“It’s so sad,” Evie said. “To have come this far.”
“I know. But half a bridge might as well be no bridge at
all,” Carlos muttered. He put down his machine and turned it
off so that he wouldn’t have to listen to its beeping. The noise
of the sensor—more proof of how close they’d come to
finding the source of the power—only made things that much
worse.
The moment Carlos killed the machine, the light in the
gargoyles’ eyes faded. The eerie green glow receded back into
their black stone sockets.
“Wait—did you just—”
Carlos looked incredulous. “Turn off the monsters? I think
so.” He called out to Mal, who was now standing with Jay, just
a few feet from the break in the stone ramp. “They’re like big
doorbells, Mal. When we try to cross, they turn on. When we
go to leave, they turn off.”
“So they’re another defense mechanism?” Evie looked
unconvinced.
“Maybe.” Carlos studied the bridge. “Anything’s possible.
At least, that’s what I’m starting to think.”
Mal came running back. “So maybe it’s just a test. Look,”
she said, approaching the gargoyles, their eyes once more
glowing. “Ask me your questions!” she called up to the
guardians of the bridge. “Let us earn the right of way.”
But the gargoyles didn’t answer her.
“Maybe you’re not turning it on right,” Evie said.
“Maybe this is just a waste of time.” Jay sighed.
“No, it’s not,” Mal said, giving them a beseeching look.
“This is my mother’s castle. We’ve found it, and there has to
be a way in. Look at the inscription on the stone—it has to be
some kind of test.”
Jay spoke up. “Carlos said they’re like a doorbell. But
what if they’re not? What if they’re like the alarm system in a
house? All we would have to know to disable them is the
code.” He shrugged. “I mean, that’s what I would do, if I was
trying to break in.”
Of any of us, he would know, Carlos thought.
 “So what’s the code?” Mal turned back to the gargoyles,
her eyes blazing. “Tell me, you idiots!”
She drew herself up to her full height and spoke in a voice
that Carlos knew well. It was how Cruella spoke to him, and
how Maleficent spoke to her minions from the balcony. He
was impressed. He’d never seen Mal so like her mother as
now.
Mal did not ask the gargoyles, she commanded them.
“This is my mother’s castle, and you are her servants. You
will do as I bid. ASK YOUR RIDDLE AND LET US PASS!”
she ordered, looking as if she were home—truly home—for
the first time.
Because, as they could all now see, she was.
A moment went by.
The mists swirled, in the background, ravens cawed, and
green light pulsed in the distant windows of the castle.
“Carlosssssssss,” hissed the gargoyles, in disturbingly
creepy unison. “Approaaaach ussssssss.”
Hearing his name, Carlos took a step forward with an
awestruck look on his face. “Why me?”
“Maybe because you touched the step first? So the alarm is
set on Carlos mode?” Jay scratched his head. “Better you than
me, man.”
“Time for the pass code.” Mal nodded. “You got this,
Carlos.”
Then the gargoyles began to hiss again. “Carlosssssss.
First quesssssstion…”
Carlos took a breath. It was just like school, he thought. He
liked school. He liked answering questions that had answers,
right? So wasn’t this just another question? That needed just
another answer?
“Ink spot in the snow
Or red, rough, and soft
 Black and wet, warm and fast
Loved and lost—What am I?”
No sooner had the gargoyles stopped speaking than
rumbling began beneath their feet. “Carlos!” Evie cried,
stumbling as she tried to stand in place.
“What?” Carlos ran his hand through his hair anxiously.
His mind was reeling.
Ink is black. Snow is white. What’s red and rough? A
steak? Who loves a steak? We haven’t had those in a while,
anyway. And what does any of this have to do with me?
“Answer the question!” Mal said. The light was once more
fading from the gargoyles’ eyes.
“It’s—” said Carlos, stalling. He was stuck.
Black. White. Spots. Red. Loved. Lost.
“The puppies. My mother’s puppies, the Dalmatians. All
one hundred and one of them. All loved and all lost, by her.”
He looked up at the stone faces. “Though I think the love part
is debatable.”
Silence.
“Do I need to say the names? Because I swear I can tell
them to you, every last one of them.” He took a breath.
“Pongo. Perdita. Patch. Lucky. Roly Poly. Freckles. Pepper…”
When he had finished speaking, the mist once more congealed
around the bridge. Carlos let out a sigh.
It hadn’t worked.
“Wait!” Mal said, pointing to the spot where the mists had
congealed. “It’s doing something.” The gray mist parted,
revealing a new section of the bridge, a piece that had not
existed a moment ago.
The gargoyles cleared a path, and the four of them ran out
onto it, hurrying to the newly formed edge, waiting for the
next question.
“NEXT RIDDLE!” Mal demanded, just as a ferocious
wind blew at them. Carlos was beginning to get the feeling the
bridge had more than a few ways of getting rid of unwanted
visitors. He swallowed.
They needed to hurry.
Or rather, he did.
“Carlossssssss. Next quessssssstion.”
He nodded.
“Like a rose in a blizzard
It blooms like a cut
A red smear
Her kiss is death,”
the gargoyles hissed in their eerie unison, turning to face them,
claws raised. Their muscles flexed and their tails whipped,
their forked tongues raking their fangs. It looked as if they
might pounce at any moment.
Once again, the bridge began to shift beneath their feet.
“‘Her kiss is death,’” echoed Carlos. “It has to be about my
mother. Is that the answer? Cruella De Vil?”
The bridge began to shake even harder.
Wrong answer.
“But it is about your mother!” said Evie, suddenly. “A rose
in a blizzard, it blooms like a cut…her kiss…it’s about what
color lipstick she wears! Cruella’s signature red!”
Carlos was dumbfounded. “It is?”
“A red smear—see? It means it’s something she puts on.
Oh, I know what it is!” Evie said. “The answer is Cherries in
the Snow! That has to be it; it’s been everywhere this season. I
mean—judging from what’s been thrown away on the
Dumpster barges.”
Mal rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you know that.”
The wind whipped up again, and the four of them locked
hands, holding on to one another for support. They pressed
their shoulders together, bracing themselves against the gale.
 Evie cursed. “It’s not Cherries in the Snow? I could swear
that was it. Red with a pinkish undertone. No, wait—wait—it
didn’t have a pink undertone, it was darker. Redder. A ‘true
red’—what did the magazines call it? Frost and Flame? No—
Fire and Ice! That’s it! Cruella’s pout is made of Fire and Ice!”
The gargoyles paused, their eyes glowing. They stood in
place as the mist once more congealed around the bridge, then
thinned to reveal another new section.
Carlos relaxed. Jay whooped—and even Mal clapped Evie
on the back as they advanced across the bridge.
One more answered question, and the way would be clear.
“Ask your last riddle!” Mal charged them.
The gargoyles looked crafty.
“Carlosssssss. Last quesssssstion.”
He nodded.
Mal looked at him encouragingly.
Here it goes, one last time.
“Dark is her heart
Black like the sky above
Tell us, young travelers—
What is her one true love?”
The creatures hissed in unison, and as soon as they
finished speaking, they walked toward the four, teeth shining,
claws raised, wings flapping. The gargoyles would tear them
to shreds if Carlos answered incorrectly—the four of them saw
that now.
Carlos had to get it right, not just to cross the bridge but to
keep them all alive. “‘Dark is her heart’—they must mean
Maleficent, right?” He turned to Mal. “But it could mean any
of our mothers.”
“My mother has no true love. My mother loves nothing
and nobody! Not even me!” said Mal, with a slight pang that
Carlos knew all too well.
 “Don’t look at me. I don’t even have a mother,” Jay said.
“Beauty!” Evie called out. “That’s mine. I know…it’s a
little cliché.”
But the gargoyles were not interested in anything anyone
had to say. Coming closer, parting the mists, their tails
swishing: “WHAT IS HER ONE TRUE LOVE?” they
demanded, looking from Evie to Carlos to Mal to Jay.
“My father?” Mal ventured.
Carlos shook his head. If Maleficent was anything like
Cruella, she hated Mal’s father with a vengeance. Cruella had
forbidden any questions about his own, no matter how curious
Carlos was, how much he wanted to know. As far as Cruella
was concerned, Carlos was hers alone. Maleficent had to be
the same.
The gargoyles were nearly upon them. They were taller
than Carlos had realized, maybe eight or nine feet. They were
enormous, and their weight made the bridge groan beneath
their every step.
Carlos didn’t think even the periodic tables could help him
now.
“WHAT IS HER ONE TRUE LOVE?” the gargoyles
asked again, extending their massive wings. When they
flapped, the mists swirled about them.
“The Dragon’s Eye?” Mal guessed. “That’s all my mom
cares about.”
“Being the Fairest One of All!” Evie shouted. “Her, or me.
In that order!”
Jay just shrugged. “I can’t help. I’m pretty sure the answer
isn’t Jafar, Prince of Pajamas.”
At first it looked as if the gargoyles were shaking their
heads, but Carlos realized it was because the bridge was
rumbling so much. Everything was quaking, and the gargoyles
were nearly upon them. His teeth began to clatter. Evie lost her
balance and slipped, almost falling over the side, but Carlos
caught her in time. Jay held on to a crumbling post and held
out his hand so that Carlos could hold on to him, forming a
link to Evie.
“Hurry! Somebody’d better come up with something,” Jay
grunted. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
Evie screamed as she dangled off the bridge, Carlos
clinging to one of her blue gloves, which she was slipping out
of, one finger at a time.
“THINK, MAL! What does Maleficent love?” Carlos
yelled. “She has to love SOMETHING!”
“WHAT IS HER ONE TRUE LOVE? ANSWER THE
RIDDLE OR FALL INTO DARKNESS,” the gargoyles
intoned.
“Diablo?” Mal screamed. “Is it Diablo?”
In answer, the bridge buckled under her feet, and Mal slid
down, only by luck managing to hold on to Jay, who was
anchoring everyone. The entire castle was shaking. Stones
flew down from its ramparts, and the towers threatened to
crumble on top of them.
The bridge began to sway dangerously.
“Wait!” screamed Jay. “You guys! They’re not talking
about Maleficent! They’re still talking about Cruella! Quick—
Carlos—what is her one true love?”
Carlos couldn’t think. He was too scared. He couldn’t even
put a sentence together. And he was even more frightened by
what the answer would be.
Maybe that was why he hadn’t guessed right, this time.
I can’t bear to say it out loud.
Jay’s voice echoed. “CARLOS! WHAT IS YOUR
MOTHER’S ONE TRUE LOVE?”
He had to say it.
He’d almost always known.
Sometimes, like this afternoon, he would think she meant
him, but he really knew better.
 Because she never meant him.
Not once. Not ever.
Carlos opened his eyes. He had to say it, and he had to say
it now.
“HER FURS! FUR IS HER ONE TRUE LOVE!” he
yelled. She said it all the time. She had said it that afternoon in
front of everyone.
“All my mother cares about is her stupid fur coat closet
and everything in it. But you guys already know that.”
It was the truth, and like any truth, it was powerful.
In the blink of an eye, the four of them were standing on
the other side of the gargoyle bridge, and everything was set to
rights once more. There was no more swaying or rumbling, no
one was falling over the side, and the gargoyles had all turned
back to stone.
Although Carlos would swear that one of the stone
gargoyles had winked at him.
They were safe, for now.
“Nice work,” said Mal, breathing heavily. “Okay, now—
where to?”
Carlos shakily looked at the beeping box in his hands.
“This way.”
The Forbidden Fortress lived up to its name. Once the four
adventurers had found their way in through its massive oaken
doors, it was almost impossible to tell the darkness of the
shadow world outside the castle from the shadow world
within. Either way, it was intimidatingly dark, and the farther
Jay and Carlos and Evie and Mal crept inside, the more their
nervous whispers echoed through the ghostly, abandoned
chambers.
Jay wished he’d worn something warmer than his leather
vest. Mal’s lips were turning blue, Carlos’s breath appeared in
white clouds as he spoke, and Evie’s fingers felt like icicles
when Jay grabbed them. (Once. Or twice. And strictly for
warmth.) It was colder than Dragon Hall inside, and there was
no chance of anything getting any warmer; there were no logs
on the fireplace grates, no thermostats to switch on.
“That’s modern castle living.” Evie sighed. “Trade in one
big, cold prison for another.” Mal nodded in agreement.
Privately, Jay thought that Jafar’s junk shop seemed downright
cozy in comparison, but he kept that to himself.
Inside every corridor, a dense fog floated just above the
black marble floor. “That has to be magic. The fog doesn’t just
do that,” Mal said.
 Carlos nodded. “The refracted energy seems stronger here.
I think we’re closer to the source than we’ve ever been.”
As he spoke, an icy wind blew past them, whistling in
through the shattered stained-glass windows high above them.
Each step they took reverberated against the walls.
Even Jay the master thief was too intimidated to try and
take anything, and kept his hands to himself for once.
Of course once they did find the scepter, he’d have to man
up. Jay knew that, and he’d made his peace with it—no matter
how well they’d all gotten along on the way there.
Villains don’t have friends, and neither do their children.
Not when you get right down to it.
None of them had come there out of loyalty to Mal, or
friendship. Jay knew what he had to do, and he’d do it.
Until then, his hands stayed in his pockets. If this haunted
place was selling it, he didn’t want it.
“What’s that?” Jay asked, pointing. Green lights flashed
through half-shattered panes of glass, but he couldn’t figure
out the source.
“It’s what we’ve been tracking all along,” Carlos
answered. “That same electromagnetic energy: it’s going
crazy.” He shook his head at the flashing lights on his box.
“This fortress was definitely exposed to something that’s left a
kind of residue charge—”
“You mean, an enchantment?”
He shrugged. “That, too.”
“And so, even after all these years, this place is somehow
still glowing with its own light?” Evie looked amazed.
“Cool,” Jay said.
Mal shrugged it off. “In other words, we’re getting closer
to the Dragon’s Eye.”
“Yep,” said Jay. Like the rest of the group, he knew what
everyone else in the Isle and the kingdom knew—that the evil
green light meant only one terrifying person.
 Even if it probably reminded Mal of home.
Corridors led to more corridors, until they passed through
dark hallways full of framed paintings shrouded in cobwebs
and dust. “It’s a portrait gallery,” Evie said, straining to see the
walls through the shadows. “Every castle has one.”
“Mal, stop it—” Jay shouted, looking behind him and
jumping away.
Mal reached out and tapped his shoulder. She was standing
right in front of him. “Hello? I’m not back there. I’m over
here.”
“Crap. I thought that picture was you.” He pointed.
“That’s not me. That’s my mother,” Mal said with a sigh.
“Whoa, you really do look like her, you know,” Jay said.
“You two could be twins,” Evie agreed.
“That, my friends, is called genetics,” Carlos said with a
smile.
“Gee, thanks—I look like my mother? Just what every girl
wants to hear,” Mal replied. Still, Jay knew different. What
Mal wanted, more than anything, was to be just like her
mother.
Exactly like her.
Every bit as bad, and every bit as powerful.
That was what it would take for someone like Maleficent
to even notice her—and Jay could tell that this portrait gallery
was only making Mal want it that much more desperately.
“Now, what?” Mal asked, as if she were trying to change
the subject.
Jay looked around. Before them were four corridors
leading to four different parts of the fortress.
A foul draft issued from each of the paths, and Jay could
have sworn he heard a distant moan; but he knew it was only
the wind, winding its way through the curving passages. He
yanked a matchbook from his pocket and lit a match,
muttering a quick “eenie-meanie-miney-mo.”
“How scientific,” Carlos said, rolling his eyes.
“You got your way, I got mine. That one,” Jay said,
pointing to the corridor directly in front of them. Just as he
did, the wind blew out from that same passage, and the foul
stench of something rotted or dead came along with it.
The wind snuffed the burning match out.
Evie held her nose, and Mal did the same.
“Are you sure about this?” Mal asked.
“Duh, of course not. That’s why I played eenie-meanie-
miney-mo! One corridor is as good as the next,” Jay said,
entering the corridor and not waiting for the rest to follow. It
was the first rule of breaking into an unknown castle: you
never let it get to you. You always act like you know what you
are doing.
Jay had a feeling this fortress was playing with them,
offering them choices when really all roads probably led to the
same place. It was time to take matters back into his own
hands.
“No, wait—you don’t know where you’re going. Carlos,
check your box-compass-thing,” said Mal.
Carlos brought the box up to the intersection. It beeped.
“Okay, I guess maybe Jay’s right.”
“Of course I am.”
They followed Jay into the dark corridor.
Carlos held the beeping box in his hands, the sound
echoing off the stony walls. It led them to a dank, cold
stairway that led further downward, deeper into darkness. The
air felt colder and damper and in the eerie silence came a
distant rattle, like bones striking rock, or chains rattling in the
wind.
“Because that’s comforting.” Evie sighed.
 “The dungeon,” said Mal. “Or you might know it as the
place where my mother encountered the lovestruck Prince
Phillip.”
Evie’s eyes were wide with awe. It was probably the most
famous story in all of Auradon. “Maleficent was going to lock
him down here for a hundred years, right? That would have
been fun.”
Carlos looked around. “She nearly pulled it off, didn’t
she?”
Mal nodded. “If not for that trio of self-righteous,
busybody, blasted good fairies.” She sighed. “End of scene.
Enter Isle of the Lost.”
“I don’t know about you, but I feel like we’ve been down
here a hundred years already. Let’s get on with it,” Jay said.
He was more alert than he’d been all day, because he knew
he was on the job now.
It was time to get to work.
Jay found a dungeon door. Carlos held the box inside,
listening for its beep. “This is the one.”
He went ahead with the box, while Jay and Mal and Evie
helped each other slowly down the steps, bracing themselves
against the wall as they went. There was no rail, and the treads
were coated in a black moss. Every step squished in the
darkness, and it felt as if they were stepping on something
living and wet.
“Suddenly the whole mud river thing doesn’t seem so
bad,” said Evie.
“Seriously,” Jay said.
Mal didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. She was too
distracted. Even the moss smelled like her mother.
It only grew thicker as they delved deeper into the
dungeon. There were layer upon layer of gauzy cobwebs, a
spider’s tapestry woven long ago and forgotten. Every step
they took pulled apart the threads, clearing a way forward. All
of them were quiet, hushed by the lingering menace in the air
as their footsteps squished in the gloom.
“Here?” Mal asked, stopping in front of a rotten wooden
door hanging partly off its hinges. When she touched it, the
frame collapsed, sending the wood clattering against the floor.
Even the heavy iron straps that had once bound the door fell
against the stones and the wood, making an awful racket.
“Maybe we shouldn’t touch anything,” said Carlos,
scrutinizing the device in his hands.
Mal rolled her eyes. “Too late.”
“I think this is it,” Carlos said.
Jay hoped he was right, that the box had led them to the
Dragon’s Eye.
He couldn’t imagine what Mal would do to poor Carlos if
it hadn’t. And Jay himself needed to get on with the job at
hand.
Mal nodded, and Jay pushed aside what was left of the
door. As they entered, he couldn’t help but notice that the
shattered remains of the door and its frame looked like a kind
of mouth—a panther’s mouth—and they were stepping
through its open jaws, into the mouth of the beast.
“Did any of you notice—”
“Shut up,” Evie said tensely. They had all seen the same
thing, which couldn’t be good. That was probably why nobody
wanted to talk about it.
The four of them walked inside. The room was impossibly
dark. There was not even a hint of light, not a glow from a
distant window or a torch. Jay reached out, looking for a wall,
something to touch.
“Maybe we should find a flashlight or something in Jay’s
pockets, before we touch any—” Carlos warned, but it was too
late.
Jay struck something with his hand, and the room was
suddenly filled with the deafening sounds of metal and stone
colliding and grinding and tinkling all around them.
 And just as suddenly, they were bathed in the brightest
light, a glow that burst from every corner of the room. The
golden brilliance filled their eyes—and before they knew what
was happening, the room was suddenly filling with sand.
Sand, sand everywhere…and they were falling into it,
covered in it.
Evie screamed. Mal started to thrash. Carlos lost hold of
his box. Only Jay stood perfectly still.
It wasn’t a dungeon, it was a cave.
A cave filled with sand…and, from what Jay could barely
make out amid the massive dunes now surrounding him…
treasure.
He looked around at the king’s ransom of jewels that
glittered in between the dunes. Mound upon mound of gold
coins shimmered in the distance, while hills of gold coins
stretched as far as the eye could see. There were crowns and
coronets, jeweled scepters and goblets, emeralds the size of his
fist, diamonds as brilliant as the stars, thousands of gold
doubloons and silver coins. There were larger things too: great
obelisks, and coffins, lamps and urns, a pharaoh’s head, a
winged staff, a chalice, and a sphinx made of gold.
A king’s ransom, he thought. That’s what this is.
Evie pushed the sand away and sat up, wearing a new
crown on her head, quite by accident. “What is this? Where
are we?”
“I can assure you this is not part of my mother’s castle,”
said Mal wryly, as she spat out some sand and blew her purple
bangs out of her eyes. She stood up, brushing sand off her
leather jacket. “More residue from the hole in the dome?” she
asked.
Carlos nodded. “It has to be. There’s no other
explanation.”
“Wait a minute, where’s the scepter?” she asked Carlos,
looking around. She sounded nervous. “It has to be here, right?
Has anyone seen it?”
 Carlos removed a golden bucket that had fallen on his head
and picked up his box from where it was balanced on what
looked like an ancient golden sarcophagus. He blew sand from
the drive and checked the machine again. “It’s still working,
but I don’t know. It’s not beeping anymore. It’s like it lost the
signal, or something.”
“Well, find it again!” Mal barked.
“I will, I will.…Give me a second, here. You have no idea
what sand can do to a motherboard.…”
Meanwhile, Jay was stuffing every pocket he had with as
much of the marvelous loot as he could carry.
This was the answer to his dreams…the stuff he had been
longing for…heaven on earth…the Biggest Score of his life,
and his father’s!
It was…it was…
It dawned on him that he knew exactly where they were.
“The Cave of Wonders!” he cried.
“Come again?” asked Mal.
“This is the place—where my father found the lamp.”
“I thought Aladdin found the lamp,” said Carlos.
“Yes, but who sent him there?” asked Jay with a superior
smile. “If it wasn’t for Jafar, Aladdin would have never found
it. Hence it was my father’s lamp all along.” He looked
annoyed. “But nobody ever mentions that part, do they? And
my dad said he thought there might be other things hidden in
the mist—he must have suspected this might be here too.”
“Fine. Cave of Wonders. More like Basement of Sand,”
said Mal. “More important, how do we get out of here?”
“You don’t,” said a deep voice.
“Excuse me?” said Mal.
“I didn’t say anything,” said Jay, who was now wearing
numerous gold chains around his neck and stacking diamond
bracelets up his arm.
 “Who was that?” asked Evie nervously.
They looked around. Nobody else seemed to be there.
“Fine. It’s nothing. Now, let’s find that door,” said Mal.
“You won’t,” said the booming voice again. “And you will
be trapped here forever if you don’t answer me correctly!”
“Great,” Jay groaned.
“Is this another riddle? This whole fortress is, like, booby-
trapped or something,” Evie grumbled.
“Multiple defenses—I told you,” Carlos said. “Burglar
alarm. Probably for the Dragon’s Eye, don’t you think?”
“Cave? Should I call you Cave?” asked Mal.
“Mouth of Wonders will do,” said the voice.
Evie made a face. “That’s a terrible name.”
Mal nodded. “Okay, Mouth, what’s the question?”
“It is but a simple one.”
“Hit us,” Mal said.
The booming voice chuckled.
Then it asked in somber tones, “What is the golden rule?”
“The golden rule?” Mal asked, scratching her head. She
looked at her team. “Is that some kind of jewelry thing? Jay?”
But Jay was too busy grabbing as much gold as he could
get and didn’t seem to hear the question.
Carlos began frantically reciting every mathematical rule
he could thing of. “Rules of logarithms? Rule of three? Rules
expressed in symbols? Order of operations?”
“Is it maybe something about being nice to each other?”
asked Evie tentatively. “Do unto others what you want done
unto yourself? Some kind of Auradon greeting-card
nonsense?”
In answer, the cave began to fill with sand again. The
Mouth of Wonders was not happy, that much was clear. Sand
appeared from everywhere, filling the room, filling the spaces
between the stacks of gold coins, rising like water filling a
sinking ship. They would soon suffocate if they did not give
the Mouth the correct answer.
“It’s the Cave of Wonders, not the Fairy Godmother!”
shrieked Carlos. “The Cave doesn’t care about being kind!
That’s not the golden rule!”
The cave continued to fill with sand.
“Come on—this way!” Mal tried to climb the stacks of
gold coins—thinking she could avoid the sand by getting
closer to the ceiling—but they collapsed beneath her each time
she attempted to scale them, and she only ended up buried in
more treasure. She tried again, and this time Evie gave her a
push from behind, so that she was able to grab on to the tall
statue of a sphinx.
She mounted the creature’s back and reached to pull Evie
up beside her, but the sand was still rising, already engulfing
her leg, threating to keep her down.
“I can’t make it!” Evie shouted.
“You have to!” Mal yelled back.
But Evie had disappeared under the flood of sand.
Jay couldn’t believe it when he watched her go under.
“Evie—”
“Come on—” Carlos said, feeling beneath the sand for her.
“She has to be down here. Help me find her.”
“I can’t find her,” Jay shouted.
Evie popped back up, spluttering, spitting coins out of her
mouth. Mal and Carlos and Jay looked relieved.
“Here—” Now Mal offered Carlos a hand to pull him up,
but the sand was already at his chest. “C’mon,” she cried,
“climb the sphinx!”
“I can’t,” he said.
“What?”
“My leg is caught.”
 Evie climbed up on the sphinx and tugged at his arm on
one side, and Mal from the other, but no matter what they did,
Carlos didn’t budge an inch. He was stuck, and the sand was
still rising around him. It came from the walls and from the
floor, and now Evie noticed that it was coming from the
ceiling too.
Mal tugged again at Carlos’s arm, but instead of pulling
him from the sand, she pulled him out of Evie’s grasp. Evie
tumbled into the ever-growing mounds of sand, crashing
against chalices and crowns.
The sand covered her: first up to her knees, then her
shoulders…
Carlos reached for her, and they held hands as the sand
kept rising.
“At least I have my heels on,” Evie said, trying to sound
brave. The sand was up to her neck, and Carlos could barely
keep his chin above the surface now.
“JAY! WHERE’S JAY?” yelled Mal, looking around,
coughing up sand as she frantically held Carlos by the arm.
“JAY!”
Jay was flailing in the sand; it was in his hair, in his eyes.
He was also covered with gold doubloons. Gold. So much
gold. He’d never seen so much gold in his life. He had all the
gold in the world, it felt like.
He would die buried in gold.…
The golden rule…
What is the golden rule?
Why, he knew the answer to that.
He could almost hear his father whispering the answer in
his ear.
Meanwhile, Carlos and Evie had disappeared beneath the
sand again, and Mal herself was about to go under.
The sand was nearly at the ceiling. Soon there were would
be nowhere to escape to—no way to avoid the sand, and no air
in the chamber. They were running out of time and out of
room.
But Jay knew the answer.
Jay knew he could save them.
“WHOEVER HAS THE MOST GOLD MAKES THE
RULES! THAT’S THE GOLDEN RULE!” Jay cried
triumphantly, raising a fist in the air.
There was a great booming chuckle, and the sand slowly
started to melt into the drains. Soon Jay and Mal and Evie and
Carlos were standing right back in the fortress, out of the
dungeons altogether.
The Cave of Wonders had disappeared, but then so had all
its treasure.
“Fool’s gold,” said Jay sadly, looking at his empty pockets.
“All of it.”
Evie thought her heart would never stop pounding. She could
still taste the sand from that cave. So this was what true evil
was like—like sand in the mouth and gargoyles on attack. If
this was what magic did, she was glad there was a dome.
Also, she had practically lost a heel back in there.
Evie shook her head. This was the second time the
Forbidden Fortress had almost gotten the better of them. Did
Maleficent know she was sending her own daughter into a
trap? And if so, did she care? Probably not: this was the feared
and loathed Mistress of Darkness, after all. Evil Queen was a
fool to think she could compete with someone like that, and
Evie almost felt like a fool for trying to compete with the
Mistress of Darkness’s daughter.
Now that she thought about it, Evie almost felt sorry for
Mal.
Almost.
Carlos’s machine was beeping again.
The four crept through the ruined castle. Bats screamed
and fluttered over their heads, and the crumbling marble floor
beneath them seemed to shift and slide in order to bear their
weight.
 Evie stumbled. “What is it with this place? Is there a fault
line that runs under this island?”
“Well,” Carlos began.
“Joke. That was a joke.” Evie sighed.
There was nothing too funny about their current situation,
however. It was a miracle that the surrounding ocean hadn’t
completely swallowed the castle and the entire mountain by
now. Evie could hear the scampering of rats inside the walls,
and chills ran up her spine.
Even the rats were looking for safer ground, she thought.
“This way,” Carlos said, motioning to a narrow passage in
front of him.
They followed, trailing behind Carlos, the machine
beeping, the sound growing louder. “Now this way,” he said,
rounding one turn, then another. Evie was right behind him as
they followed, the passage growing narrower. “And now—”
“What’s going on?” asked Evie, cutting him off. “Because
I know my sizing, and I didn’t just double in diameter in the
last two and a half minutes.”
Indeed, the passage had narrowed to nearly her shoulders’
width. If it got any narrower, she would have to turn sideways.
A lump formed in her throat, and her stomach began to roil—
she felt as if this were no longer a corridor. It was crack, a
fissure, and it felt like it might close on them at any moment.
Mal raised her voice. “Is it just my imagination, or are we
wedged inside a mountain like—”
“A piece of string dangling down a pipe? Toothpaste
squeezed inside a straw? A hangnail in this cuticle right here?”
Jay said, holding out his hand. “Dang, this one really hurts.”
“Are you describing the things you’ve stolen today?
Because those are all terrible analogies,” Evie said, looking at
Jay. “And I’m saying that as someone who was castle-
schooled by a woman who thinks the three R’s are Rouging,
Reddening, and Reapplying.”
 “Maybe we should go back,” Carlos said, giving voice to
Evie’s fear. “Except—I think I might be stuck.” Just then, the
walls shook, the castle rattled, and a chip of stone fell to the
floor. The shard was big enough to do damage, and it narrowly
missed Evie’s perfect nose.
She cried out. She wanted to retreat, but she couldn’t, the
corridor was too narrow. “Maybe it’s some kind of trap! Let’s
go—it doesn’t look safe!”
“No,” Carlos said. “Look! There’s another passage,” he
added, wedging himself forward until he could pry first one
hip and then the other out from the narrow corridor to a just-
wider one.
As she and Jay and Mal followed him, Evie was so
relieved that she didn’t even remember to complain about her
nose.
This new passage turned right, then left. The walls were
farther apart here, but they were oddly sloped, some tilting
inward, others outward. The effect was dizzying, as even the
ceiling was sloped in spots, and the corridors kept branching,
splitting into two or sometimes three directions.
And always, the rumbling continued beneath them.
“Something doesn’t like us,” Jay said.
“We’re not supposed to be in this place,” echoed Evie.
“We need to hurry,” Carlos said, trying to sound calm,
though he had to be as scared as any of them.
Another stone broke free of the wall, shattering as it hit the
floor, nearly crushing Evie’s head. She jumped back this time,
shuddering. “What is this place?”
“We’re in some kind of maze,” Mal said, thinking aloud.
“That’s why the corridors keep turning, why passages keep
splitting off and narrowing. It’s some kind of twisted maze,
and we’re lost in it.”
“No, we’re not. We’ve still got the box,” Carlos replied.
“It’s the only thing that is keeping us from getting lost in
here.” The machine was still beeping, so they just kept
following him. Evie only hoped he was right and that he knew
where he was going. He must have, though, because the
winding corridors soon gave way to more open spaces, and all
of them breathed a sigh of relief.
Even when the hallways ran long and straight again, the
castle was still rumbling, the walls still tilting; and the ceiling
was even lower now where they found themselves.
“It’s not random,” Carlos said, suddenly. “It’s in a
rhythm.”
“You’re right,” Jay said. “Look. The rumbling seems to go
along with your beeping box. When the box lights up, the
walls start to move.”
Evie stared. “You mean, he’s the one doing it?”
Carlos shook his head. “Actually, I think it’s the waves.
Imagine how old this castle must be. What if, each time a
wave strikes the foundation, a stone falls, or the floors
rumble?”
Mal swallowed. “I just hope the castle itself doesn’t
crumble before we find the scepter.”
Evie bent down so her head wouldn’t hit the ceiling. All of
them except for Carlos had to crouch down now to avoid it.
“It’s a room made for mice,” said Mal.
“Or dwarfs?” asked Evie.
“Or children?” guessed Jay.
“No,” Carlos said, quieting the others, pointing to
something in the dark distance. They followed the line of his
gaze, seeing at first a pair of green glowing eyes, then another
and another.
“Goblins,” said Carlos. “This is where the goblins live.
That’s why the ceilings are so low and the corridors are so
strange. This isn’t a place for humans,” he said, and when he
finished, the air filled with a terrible, raucous laughter, the
sound of claws tapping and teeth grinding. The box had led
them right into the goblins’ den.
 “Super,” Mal said.
“Yeah, good work,” Jay snorted.
Evie just glared at Carlos.
And these weren’t the friendly, enterprising goblins of the
wharf or the rude ones from the Slop Shop. These were
horrible creatures that had lived in darkness without their
mistress for twenty years. Hungry and horrible.
“What do we do?” Jay asked, cowering behind Carlos,
who had flattened himself against the wall of the corridor.
“We run,” Evie and Mal cried, one after the other.
They ran toward the only open passageway, the goblin
horde shrieking in the darkness, following behind them, their
spears beating against the walls.
Jay shouted, “I guess they don’t get a lot of visitors.”
“Maybe they should stop eating their guests,” Carlos said,
nearly tripping over what he hoped was not a bone.
“That door!” Evie said, pointing to a heavy wooden door.
“Everyone in!”
They hurried through the doorway, and Evie slammed the
door after them, throwing the lock and sealing the goblins out.
“That was close,” said Mal.
“Too close,” Jay echoed. The goblins could still be heard
on the far side of the door, cackling and tapping it with their
spears.
“Maybe they just like to scare people?” Evie said. “I heard
they were mostly harmless.”
“Yeah, mostly,” said Carlos, sucking his hand where a
spear had almost hit it. “Let’s not wait around to find out.”
When it sounded as if the goblins had gone, Evie cracked
open the door. She made sure they were alone before she
nodded to Carlos. They continued down the narrow hallways
finding nothing but empty chambers until she spied a light
shining from a hidden hallway. “Over here!” she called.
 She walked toward the light excitedly, thinking it might be
the Dragon’s Eye glinting in the dark.
And stopped short—because she was standing in front of a
mirror.
A dark, stained, cracked mirror, but a mirror nonetheless.
Evie screamed.
“A monster!” she said.
“What is it?” Mal asked, following and looking over
Evie’s shoulder. Then Mal screamed too.
Carlos and Jay bumped up next.
“A beast,” Evie yelled. “A hideous beast!”
Evie was still screaming and pointing to her reflection. In
the mirror, an old woman with a crooked nose and wearing a
black cape pointed right back.
The hag was her.
“What’s happened to me?” she asked, her voice, rough and
quavery. Worse, when she looked down, she saw that her
formerly smooth skin was saggy, wrinkly, and dotted with
liver spots. She looked at her hair—white and scraggly. She
was an old beggar woman, and not just in the mirror.
She wasn’t the only one.
Mal was frowning at her reflection. She had a warty nose,
and her head was mostly bald except for a few white strands.
“Charming. It’s got to be some kind of spell.”
Jay shook his head. “But—once again, and let’s say it all
together now—there’s no magic on the island.”
“There was a moment—for a single second—when my
machine burned a hole in the dome, and I think maybe that
was what did it.”
“Did what, exactly?” Evie asked, looking spooked.
“Brought Diablo back to life, sparked the Dragon’s Eye
and the gargoyles and the Cave of Wonders, and probably
everything that used to be magical in this fortress,” said
Carlos. “I mean, maybe. Or not.”
“I don’t know, I don’t think I look THAT bad,” said Jay,
who grinned at his reflection. He was chubby and pasty,
bearded and gray, and looked exactly like his father. He too
was wearing a black cloak. “I look like I got my hands on a
whole lot of cake in my life, at least.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Carlos, who was frightened to
see that in old age he resembled his mother, feature for feature:
knotted neck, high cheekbones, bug-eyed glare. “I think I’d
rather face the goblins than this.”
“I’m with you.” Evie couldn’t look at herself for another
moment.
She began to panic; her throat was constricting. She
couldn’t look like this! She was beautiful! She was—
“Fairest,” agreed the mirror.
“Not the voice!” Evie shouted, before she realized what,
exactly, she had heard. Because this time, it wasn’t her mother
doing her Mirror Voice, as it so often was.
It was an actual Magic Mirror. On an actual wall.
They all turned to the mirror, whose human-esque features
had appeared as a ghostly presence in the reflective glass.
“Fairest you are, and fairest you will be again,
If you prove you are wise
and declare all the ingredients needed
for a peddler’s disguise,”
said the Magic Mirror.
“It’s a word problem!” said Carlos, gleefully. He loved
word problems.
“No, it’s not. It’s a spell,” Jay said, looking at him like he
was crazy.
“I knew it!” said Mal.
“What’s a peddler’s disguise?” asked Jay.
 “Obviously—it’s this. It’s what’s happened to us,” said
Mal. “Evie, do you know what goes into making a peddler’s
disguise? It sounds like if we can name all the ingredients, we
can reverse the spell.”
“Not us,” Carlos pointed out. “Evie. It says, you know, the
Fairest.” He looked at Mal, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry,
Mal.”
“There’s nothing fair about me now,” Evie said. “But I
have heard of the Peddler’s Disguise, though.” Her eyes were
back on the glass, still riveted by her awful looks in the mirror.
“Of course you have. It’s only your mother’s most famous
disguise! Remember—when she fooled Snow White into
taking the apple?” said Mal impatiently.
“Don’t pressure me! You’re making me panic. It’s like, I
used to know it, but now I can’t think of anything except her.”
Evie pointed at her reflection. “I’m paralyzed.”
“I don’t know. I think it’s kind of cool,” Jay said. “You
could steal a whole lot of stuff, looking like that.”
Carlos nodded. “He does have a point. You might want to
give the whole getup a test run.”
Evie started to wail.
“Not helping,” Mal scolded.
Evie wailed all the more loudly.
“Evie, come on. That’s not you. You know that. Don’t let
my mother’s evil fortress get under your skin,” Mal said,
sounding as passionate on the subject as Evie had ever heard
her sound about anything at all.
“This is what my—I mean, Maleficent does. She finds
your weaknesses and picks them off, one by one. You think it’s
an accident that we stumbled across this Magic Mirror, right
when we happened to have the Fairest along for the ride?”
“You think it’s on purpose?” Evie looked calmer, and even
a little intrigued.
 “I think it’s a test, just like everything else in this place.
Like Carlos and the gargoyles, or Jay and the Mouth.”
“Okay,” Evie said slowly, nodding at Mal. “You really
think I can do it?”
“I know you can, you loser. I mean, Fairest loser.” Mal
grinned.
Evie grinned back.
Okay, maybe she could do this. “I have studied that spell a
hundred times in my mother’s grimoire.”
“That’s the spirit,” Mal said, thumping her on the back.
“I can see the words of the spell as clearly as if it were
before me now,” Evie said a little more loudly, standing a little
straighter.
“There you go. Of course you can. It’s a classic.”
“A classic,” Evie said to herself. “That was what I called
it. Remember?”
Could she?
Then she looked her old, ugly self right in the eye.
“‘Mummy dust, to make me look old!’” she cried.
Suddenly, her wrinkles disappeared. Carlos whooped with
joy, because his had vanished as well. And he’d hated seeing
Cruella’s frown lines on his face.
Evie smiled. “‘To shroud my clothes, black of night!’”
In a flash, they were wearing their own clothes again.
“‘To age my voice, an old hag’s cackle!’” she said, and
even as she said it, her real voice returned, young and melodic
once again.
Jay laughed in delight, and it was no longer an old man’s
gruff chuckle.
“‘To whiten my hair, a scream of fright!’” said Evie,
watching as her hair went back to the dark, beautiful blue hue.
Mal’s thick purple locks returned, and the black seeped back
into Carlos’s white hair.
 Evie was almost done now, and her voice gained
confidence as she remembered the last words of the
incantation. “‘A blast of wind to fan my hate, a thunderbolt to
mix it well, now reverse this magic spell!’”
All four of them cheered and yelled and jumped around
like crazy idiots. Even Evie was grinning now.
She had never been so happy to see herself in the mirror,
and now that she was herself again, she found that for once in
her life, nobody even cared how she looked. Not even her.
It was like magic.
As she trudged behind the others, Mal thought about what
she’d said to Evie—how everything at the Forbidden Fortress
had been a test.
Carlos had faced the gargoyles, and Jay, the Cave of
Wonders. Evie had endured the Magic Mirror.
What about me?
What’s in store for me?
Was danger—in the form of a challenge all her own—
waiting for her, just behind the next castle door?
Or would it be even more like my mother to ignore me
altogether? To leave me alone, and think I wasn’t worthy of
any kind of test at all?
She closed her eyes. She could almost hear her mother’s
voice now.
What is there to test, Mal? You aren’t like me. You’re weak,
like your father. You don’t even deserve your own name.
Mal opened her eyes.
Either way, nothing changed the place where they were
standing.
 Maleficent’s home. Her lair.
Mal was on her mother’s turf now, whether or not she was
welcome there. And she knew that whatever happened next
was about the two of them, test or not. Quest or not.
Even, Dragon’s Eye or not.
Mal couldn’t shake the feeling that something or someone
was watching her; she’d felt it since she left home that
morning, and the presence was even stronger in the fortress.
But every time she looked over her shoulder there was
nothing. Maybe she was just being paranoid.
Past the mirrored hallway, Mal and the others walked
through a corridor hung with purple and gold pennants and
great tapestries, depicting all the surrounding kingdoms. It was
hard to tell one from the next, though, mostly because the dust
was so thick. As they walked, they even made tracks across
the dusty stones, as if they were instead trudging through
hallways of snow.
But on they went.
The corridors bent and twisted, the floor sometimes
seeming uneven, the walls angling one way or the other,
making them all feel as if they were in a dream or a fun-house
or someplace that didn’t really exist.
A fairy tale come to life.
A castle—only, the way castles looked in nightmares.
Every wall and every stone was rendered in shades of gray
and black, a faint green glow sometimes seeping through a
wedge here and there.
Mother’s home, Mal thought every time she noticed the
green light.
The total effect was excruciating for all four of them—
even for Mal.
Or, especially for Mal.
The cracked stained glass windows were the only other
source of color. The old glass was mostly broken, and sections
of the windows lay entirely in ruins, their shards dashed across
the floor. Mal and the others had to step carefully to avoid
slipping on one of pieces. The long, window-lined corridor
gave way to an even taller and wider corridor, and before long,
Mal knew they were approaching some place of significance, a
great chamber, perhaps even the heart of the castle itself.
Mal walked toward her fate, as Evie had said. Her destiny,
if that’s what it was.
Mal could feel it, the now familiar pull toward something
unknown, something that perhaps belonged only to her.
It was there in front of her, buzzing and vibrating, just as it
had been since the first moment she’d stepped inside the
Thorn Forest. It pulled at her, beckoned her, even taunted her.
Come, it said.
Hurry.
This way.
Was it her really destiny calling to her, after all?
Or was it just another failure waiting for her in the throne
room? More confirmation that she would never be her
mother’s daughter, no matter how hard she tried?
She stopped at a pair of doors twice the height of a grown
man.
“This is it. It’s here.”
She looked at Carlos, and he nodded, holding up the box.
She saw that he had switched it off some time ago. “We didn’t
need it anymore,” he said, looking right at Mal.
Jay nodded to her. Even Evie reached for her hand,
squeezing it once before she let it go again.
Mal took a breath. She felt a chill up her spine, and goose
bumps all over her arm. “This was Maleficent’s throne room.
I’m sure of it now. I can feel it.” She looked up at them. “Does
that sound crazy?”
They shook their heads, no.
 She pushed open the doors, taking it all in.
The darkness and the power. The shadow and the light.
Ceilings as high as the sky, and as black as smoke. Windows
spanning whole walls, through which Maleficent could
manipulate an entire world.
“Oh,” said Evie involuntarily.
Carlos looked like he wanted to bolt, but he didn’t.
Jay’s eyes flickered across the room as if he were casing
the joint.
But Mal felt like she was all alone with the ghosts.
One ghost, in particular.
This was where her mother used to rage and command,
where she had shot out of the ceiling as a green ball of fire to
curse an entire kingdom. This was her seat of Darkness.
They pushed farther inside, Mal at the front. Carlos and
Jay and Evie fell like a phalanx of soldiers behind her, almost
in formation.
The black stones beneath their feet were shiny and slick,
and the entire room was haunted by an aura of deep
malevolence. Mal could feel it; they all could.
This had been a sad, angry, and unhappy home. Even now,
the pain of that time burned its way through Mal, deep into her
bones.
She shivered.
There was an empty place in the middle of the room where
her mother’s throne used to be. It had sat upon a great dais,
flanked by two curving sets of stairs. The room was round and
ringed with columns.
A great arc cradled the place where the throne had once
sat, guarding an empty spot. The tattered remains of purple
tapestries moldered on the walls.
“There’s nothing left,” Mal said, kneeling on the one dark
spot that no longer held a throne. “It’s all gone.”
 “You all right?” asked Jay, who was nervously blowing on
his hands to warm them.
She nodded. “It’s…” she faltered, unable to find the words
to describe what she was feeling. She had listened to all her
mother’s stories, but she didn’t think they were real.
Not until now.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.” He shrugged, and she realized
he’d probably felt the same way when they were in the Cave
of Wonders. Mal knew Jafar and Iago talked about it all the
time, but it was hard to imagine, hard to picture a world
beyond what they knew of the Isle.
It had been, anyway.
Now everything was different.
Jay sighed. “It’s all real, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Mal nodded. “Every last page of every last
story.” Even the curse, she thought, for the first time in hours.
The curse.
Someone has to touch it.
Evie has to touch it, and sleep for a thousand years.
“So, where is it?” Carlos asked, looking around the cold
stone room.
“It has to be here somewhere,” said Evie, turning to look
behind her.
“Maybe we should split up,” Jay said, a glint in his eye.
“Think,” Mal said. “My mother was never without it. She
held it even as she sat upon her throne.” Mal moved back to
the spot where the throne no longer stood. “Here.”
“So where would it be now?” Carlos frowned.
“It wouldn’t be where anyone else could touch it,” Evie
said. “Try asking my mother if she’ll let you touch any of her
own Miss Fairest Everything memorabilia.”
Mal flinched at the word touch.
 The curse was waiting for all of them—or at least, one of
them—just as the Dragon’s Eye was.
“But she’d want to see it, of course. From her throne,” Jay
said. Mal nodded; they’d all seen Jafar orient himself in his
kitchen, directly behind his stack of coins.
“Which would be—” Mal spun slowly around. She could
picture her mother sitting here, clutching the staff, feeling
powerful and evil and well, like herself as she reigned over the
kingdom.
She shook her head.
My mother would have no problem cursing any of the
people in this room for ten thousand years, let alone one.
“There. Look!” cried Evie, spotting a tall black staff with a
dim green globe at its top against the far wall.
It was, just as they had predicted, exactly in Mal’s line of
vision from the missing throne, but raised by some sort of
magical light a good twelve feet into the air. Far out of the
hands of any interlopers—and yes, where it could not be
touched.
Of course.
There it was.
It’s really here. The most powerful weapon of all Darkness.
Evil lives! indeed.
“It’s right here!” Evie was closest to it and reached for it
eagerly.
She shot her hand up into the air, extending her fingers.
The moment she did, the Dragon’s Eye began to shake, as if
something about Mal herself was prying it loose from the very
light and air that bound it.
Evie smiled. “I’ve got it—”
Mal saw Evie’s hand curl toward it, almost in slow motion.
The scepter itself seemed to glow, as if it were beckoning Evie
toward it.
 Everything around Mal seemed to blur until she could only
see Evie’s small, delicate fingers and the bewitched Dragon’s
Eye, just beyond her grasp.
In a split second Mal had to make the decision: could she
let Evie touch it and be cursed into a deep, death-like sleep for
a thousand years?
Or would she save her?
Stop her?
Do something…good?
While betraying her own mother’s wishes, and giving up
on her own dream of becoming something more than a
disappointment?
Was she content to remain only a Mal her entire life?
Never a Maleficent?
She froze, unable to decide.
“No!” cried Mal finally, running toward Evie. “Don’t!”
What just happened? What was she doing? Why couldn’t
she stop herself?
“What?” asked Evie, shocked, just as a familiar voice
boomed from the Dragon’s Eye.
“WHOEVER AWAKENS THE DRAGON WILL BE
CURSED TO SLEEP FOR A THOUSAND YEARS!”
Maleficent’s voice was coming from the staff even now,
echoing and reverberating around the room.
Her mother really had left an impression behind her. What
remained of her power and her energy crackled off the walls of
the room, sparked to life by one accidental moment and latent
until now, when it had victims to torture.
Evie’s fingers brushed the air next to the staff.
While Mal’s hand closed upon it, and when it did…
She fell to the floor, asleep.
Mal blinked her eyes. She could see herself lying on the floor
of the throne room, purple hair spilling out like a stain beneath
her head.
Her three companions huddled nervously around her.
So I’m sleeping, then? Or am I awake? Or maybe I’m
dreaming?
Because Mal knew she was seeing something else as well.
She wasn’t in the Forbidden Fortress anymore.
She was in a palace, and there was good King Stefan and
his queen and a baby in a cradle.
They were happy. She could see by the light in their faces,
and by the way their eyes never left the child.
Almost like a magnet, Mal thought. I know how that pull
feels.
A huge, gaily-dressed crowd of courtiers and servants and
guests assembled in a beautiful throne room around them.
There were two good fairies hovering above the cradle, their
wands making beautiful sparkles in the air. It was all so sweet,
it was sickening.
Mal had never seen anything like it, not up close like this.
Not in some kind of insipid storybook.
What is this?
Why am I seeing this?
Then a green ball of fire appeared in the middle of the
room, and when it dispersed, Mal saw a familiar face.
Her mother.
Tall, haughty, beautiful, and scorned. Maleficent was
angry. Mal could feel the cold heat rising from her very being.
She stared at her mother.
Maleficent addressed the crowd gathered around the royal
family.
“Ah, I see everyone has been invited. The royalty, nobility,
the gentry, and the rabble. I must say, I really felt quite
distressed at not receiving an invitation.”
What was her mother talking about? Then Mal realized.
Maleficent had not been invited to Aurora’s christening. Mal
had never known this was the reason her mother hated parties
and celebrations of all kinds.
But she knew exactly how her mother felt.
The hurt.
The shame.
The anger.
The desire for revenge.
Mal had felt exactly the same thing, hadn’t she? When Evil
Queen had thrown her party for Evie, all those years ago and
kept her out?
Mal watched as her mother cursed the baby Princess
Aurora to sleep a hundred years if she pricked her finger even
once on a spindle. It was some fine spellcraft, and Mal was
proud of her mother’s efficiency, her power, her simple
rendering. One prick of one finger could bring an entire royal
house crashing down. It was a beautiful, terrible destiny. Well-
woven. Deeply felt.
Mal was proud of Maleficent. She always had been, and
she always would be. Maleficent had raised her daughter
alone, and gotten by as best she could. If only because there
was no one else to do it.
But her mother was made for Evil; she was good at it.
And in that very moment, and for the very first time, Mal
finally understood that it wasn’t just pride that she felt. It was
pity. Maybe even compassion.
She was sad for her mother—and that was something new.
The crowd saw a monster, a terror, a devil, a witch, cursing
a beautiful princess. But Mal saw only a hurt little girl, acting
out of spite and anger and insecurity.
She wanted to reach out and tell Maleficent it would be all
right. She wasn’t sure it was true, but they’d somehow gotten
along this far, hadn’t they?
It’ll be all right, Mother.
She had to tell her.
But she woke up before she could.
Mal blinked her eyes open. She was in the throne room at
the Forbidden Fortress. Jay, Carlos, and Evie were standing
around her nervously.
When she had fallen asleep she had been holding the
Dragon’s Eye scepter in her hand. But when she woke up, it
was nowhere to be seen.
“You’re awake! But you’re supposed to be asleep for a
thousand years!” cried Evie. “How?”
Mal rubbed her eyes. It was true—she was awake. She
wasn’t cursed. Why was that? Then she realized.
Prove that you are my daughter, prove that you are mine,
her mother had ordered her. Prove to me that you are the blood
of the dragon. Prove you are worthy of that mark on your skin.
The mark of the double dragon etched on her forearm.
That had to be it. She held it up, showing the others.
“It couldn’t hurt me,” said Mal. “My true name is
Maleficent. Like my mother, I am part dragon, and so I am
immune to the Dragon’s curse.”
“Lucky you,” Jay said, eyeing the impressive tat.
Mal smiled proudly down at the marking she bore.
If she had been her father’s daughter, weak, human, she
would be asleep by now. For a thousand years. But she wasn’t.
She was strong, and awake, and had proven to everyone that
she was her mother’s daughter.
Hadn’t she?
And when she brought her mother the Dragon’s Eye—
 “But wait—where is it?” Mal said, looking around
accusingly at the trio. “I had it right in my hand!”
“Good question,” said Jay, sounding a little wounded
himself.
“It’s gone. When you grabbed it, there was a flash of light
that blinded us for a second, and when we could see again, it
was gone,” said Carlos. He shrugged. “Easy come, easy go.”
The other three glared at him.
“Easy?” Evie raised an eyebrow, looking as tough as she
possibly could.
Mal narrowed her eyes. “Jay, come on, hand it over.”
“I swear, I don’t have it!” said Jay, emptying his pockets to
show her. “I planned to take it. I wanted to take it. I was even
going to take it out of your own hand, while you were sacked
out.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “Just didn’t get around to it, I guess.”
“None of us have it,” said Evie. She folded her arms,
looking annoyed. “And by the way, you knew the curse was on
that staff and you had all of us come with you anyway? What
was up with that?”
Mal kicked a stone with her toe. “Yeah. I didn’t really
work out the plan very well.”
“So why didn’t you let me touch it, then? Wasn’t that your
evil scheme all along?”
Mal shrugged. “What are you talking about? I just didn’t
want you to. It wasn’t yours to touch.”
“Be honest. You were going to curse me, weren’t you? You
were going to let me touch that thing and end up taking the
thousand-year nap?” Evie sighed.
Jay looked up. Carlos backed away instinctively. Mal
knew neither one of them wanted to get anywhere near this
conversation. She knew that because she felt the same way
herself.
 “I guess that was the plan.” Mal shrugged. You don’t have
to explain yourself. Not to her. But she found, strangely
enough, that she wanted to.
“Is this still about the—you know?” Evie looked at her.
“Come on.”
Mal was embarrassed. “I have no idea what you’re talking
about.”
“Sure you don’t,” Jay muttered. Even Carlos laughed. Mal
glared at both of them.
Evie rolled her eyes. “The party. My party. Back when we
were little kids.”
“Who can remember that far back?” Mal said, sticking out
her chin stubbornly.
Evie looked tired. “I begged my mother to invite you, you
know. But she refused; she was still too angry at your mother.
They’ve competed for everything for as long as they’ve known
each other.”
Mal nodded again. “I know. Because of that stupid election
about who would lead this island, right?”
Evie shrugged. “You know what they say. Magic Mirror
on the wall, who’s the biggest ego of them all?”
Mal smiled in spite of the entirely awkward nature of the
conversation.
Evie looked her straight in the eye. “Look, my mom
messed up. But the party wasn’t that great, really. You didn’t
miss much.”
“It wasn’t a howler?”
“Not anything like Carlos’s at all.” Evie smiled.
“That’s right. I’m legendary,” Carlos said.
Mal glared at him. “As if I didn’t have to almost beat you
into having that party?”
She looked back at Evie. “Look, I didn’t mean to trap you
in Cruella’s horrible closet.” Mal glanced at Carlos, adding,
“The one she loves more than her own son.”
“Ha-ha,” Carlos said, not laughing at all. Well, sort of not
laughing. Actually, he was kind of laughing. Even Jay was
having a hard time keeping a straight face.
Evie giggled as well. “Yes, you did.”
“Okay, I did.” Mal smiled.
“It’s all right.” Evie smiled back. “I didn’t get caught in
any of the traps.”
“Cool,” said Mal, even as she was embarrassed by her
softness.
Carlos sighed.
Jay punched him in the gut with a grin. “Come on. At least
your mom doesn’t only wear sweat suits and pajamas.”
“Let’s not talk about it,” said Evie and Mal, almost in
unison.
“Yeah. Enough with the violins. We got a long walk
home,” Jay said. “And I’m not all that sure that this place has a
back door.”
Mal had a hard time keeping her mind on finding the way out
of the fortress, though.
She was soft, and she was worried.
She had just saved someone’s life, practically. Hadn’t she?
What kind of self-respecting second-generation villain did
anything of the sort?
What had happened to her grand evil scheme?
Why hadn’t she just let Evie be cursed by Maleficent’s
scepter? Weren’t princesses meant to sleep for years and years
anyway? Didn’t that basically come with the job description?
What if my mom is right?
What if Mal really was weak like her father—and worse,
had a propensity for good somewhere in her black little heart?
Mal shuddered as she walked along behind the others.
 No. If anything, being immune to the curse just proved she
was definitely not her father’s daughter. One day she too
would be Maleficent.
She had to be.
But whether she was Maleficent’s daughter or not, she had
failed.
She was returning home empty-handed.
Boy, did she not want to be around when her mother found
out.
This wasn’t the victory lap Mal had imagined when she’d
first set off in search of the Forbidden Fortress.
Defeated, the unlikely gang of four began to retrace their
steps, just looking for the way out. They had lost everything,
as usual. By any reasonable standard—or by her mother’s
infinitely less reasonable standards, Mal thought—they were
utter and complete failures, every last one.
Especially her.
The moment they retreated from the throne room, though,
Mal couldn’t help but feel a shiver of relief at also leaving its
darkness behind.
Although, oddly enough, the fortress had a different feel
now, like it was dead. Mal couldn’t feel the same energy it had
before.
“Do you think the hole in the dome’s plugged up again?”
she asked Carlos. “It feels different in here.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe the magic it sparked is spent,
now.”
Mal looked up at the sky. She had a feeling there wouldn’t
be any more magic on the island.
 Nobody said a word as they found their way back to the
hall where the Magic Mirror was now just an ordinary surface
—especially not Evie, who avoided so much as a glance at it.
Nobody said a word, either, as they hurried once again
over the crumbling marble floor, this time avoiding both the
scampering rats and the fluttering bats—going nowhere near
any goblin passages or suffocating mazes or dusty tapestry
rooms or portrait halls—until they reached the vast, empty
cave that had so briefly become the sand-filled Cave of
Wonders.
Especially not Jay, who only quickened the pace of his
own echoing footsteps until he once again found the rotting
wooden door that had brought them there the first time.
And Carlos seemed in a particular hurry to get through
twisting passages that led to the black marble–floored, dark-
fogged halls of the main fortress. As he pushed his way out the
front doors, the gargoyle bridge once again faced them.
Faced him.
When the others caught up to Carlos, they stopped and
stared over the precipice where he stood. The dizzying depths
of the ravine below were, well, dizzying. But he didn’t seem in
any hurry to step back up to the bridge this time.
“It’s fine,” Evie said, encouragingly. “We’ll just do what
we did before.”
“Sure. We cross one stupid bridge.” Jay nodded. “Not very
far at all.”
That was true. On the other side of the bridge, they could
just make out the winding path leading its way down through
the thorn forest, from the direction they’d originally come.
“We’re practically home free,” Mal agreed, looking
sideways at Carlos, who sighed.
“I don’t know. Do you think it looks a little more, you
know, crumbly? After all those tidal earthquakes we were
feeling back there? It doesn’t seem like the safest plan.” He
looked at Mal.
 Nobody could disagree.
The problem was still the bridge. It was all in one piece
this time, with no missing sections—but they all knew better
than to trust anything in the fortress.
And not one of them dared set foot on it, after last time.
Not after the riddles. Though they’d made it over easily
enough the first time, once they’d answered the riddles, they
hadn’t thought about having to go out the way they’d come.
“I don’t know if I can do it again,” Carlos said, taking in
the faces of the once again stone gargoyles. He winced at the
thought of their coming to life again.
In Mal’s own mind, she hadn’t gotten much past imagining
the scene where she reclaimed her mother’s missing scepter
and came home a hero. She had been a little foggy on the
actual details beyond that, she supposed; and now that the
whole redemption thing was off the table, she really didn’t
have a backup plan.
But as she looked at Carlos, who stood there shivering, she
suspected, at the memory of collapsing bridges and fur coats
and a mother’s true love that wasn’t her son, Mal figured out a
way across.
Mal stepped in front of him. “You don’t have to do it
again.” She took another step, and then another. “I mean, you
don’t get to hog all the cool bridge action,” she said, trying to
sound convincing. “Now it’s my turn.”
“What?” Carlos looked confused.
The wind picked up as Mal kept moving forward, but she
didn’t stop.
Mal pulled her jacket tightly around her and shouted up at
the gargoyles. “You don’t scare me! I’ve seen worse. Where
do you think I grew up, Auradon?”
The wind howled around her now. She took another step,
motioning for the other three to move behind her.
“Are you crazy?” Jay shook his head, sliding behind her.
 “Mal, seriously. You don’t have to do this,” Carlos
whispered, ducking behind Jay.
“Definitely crazy,” Evie said, from behind Carlos.
“Me, crazy?” Mal raised her voice even higher. “How
could I not be? I go to school in a graveyard and eat expired
scones for breakfast. My own mother sends me to forbidden
places like this, because of some old bird and a lost stick,” she
scoffed. “There’s nothing you can throw at me that’s worse
than what I’ve already got going.”
As she spoke, Mal kept pressing forward. She had crossed
the halfway point of the bridge now, dragging the others right
behind her.
The wind roared and whipped against them, as if it would
pick them up and toss them off the bridge itself, if she let it.
But Mal wouldn’t.
“Is that all you’ve got?” She stuck out her chin, that much
more stubborn. “You think a little breeze like that can get to
someone like me?”
Lightning cracked overhead, and she started to run—her
friends right behind her. By the time they reached the other
side, the bridge had begun to rock so hard, it seemed like it
would crumble again.
Only, this time it wouldn’t be an illusion.
The moment Mal felt the dirt of the far cliff safely beneath
her feet, she stumbled over a tree root and collapsed, bringing
Carlos and Evie down with her. Jay stood there laughing.
Until he realized that he wasn’t the only one laughing.
“Uh, guys?”
Mal looked up. They were surrounded by a crowd of
goblins—not unlike the ones who had chased them through the
goblin passages of the Forbidden Fortress. Except these
particular goblins seemed to be of a friendlier variety.
“Girl,” one said.
“Brave,” said another.
 “Help,” said a third.
“I don’t get it,” Evie said, sitting up. Mal and Carlos
scrambled to their feet. Jay took a step back.
Finally, a fourth goblin sighed. “I think what my
companions are trying to articulate is that we’re incredibly
impressed by that show of fortitude. The bravery. The
perseverance. It’s a bit unusual, in these parts.”
“Parts,” repeated the goblins.
“It talks,” Evie said.
Mal looked from one goblin to another. “Uh, thanks?”
“Not at all,” said the goblin. The goblins around him began
to grunt animatedly—although Mal thought it might be
laughter, too. Carlos looked nervous. Jay just grunted back.
The fourth goblin sighed again, looking back at Mal. “And
if you’d like our assistance in any way, we’d be more than
happy to help convey you to your destination.”
He looked Mal over.
She looked him over, in return. “Our destination?”
He suddenly became flustered. “You do seem far away
from home,” he said, adding hastily: “Not to presume. It’s a
conclusion I draw only from the irrefutable fact that neither
you or your friends seem, well, remotely goblin-esque.”
The goblins grunt-laughed again.
Jay stared. “You’re about two feet tall. How would a guy
like you get people like us all the way back to town?”
Evie elbowed him.
“Not to be rude,” Jay said.
“Rude,” chanted the goblins, still grunt-laughing.
“I’m pretty sure that was rude,” Carlos muttered.
“Ah, there you have it. Alone, we are but a single goblin,
perhaps even, a brute.” The goblin smiled. “Together, I’m
afraid we are a rather brutal army. Not to mention, we pull an
excellent carriage.”
 “Pull!” The goblins went nuts.
An old iron carriage—like the kind you might have seen
Belle and Beast ride away in, except black and burnt and
nothing that either the queen or king of Auradon would so
much as touch—appeared in front of them.
No less than forty goblins manned either side, fighting for
a grip on the carriage itself.
“Why would you do that?” Mal said, as a good seven
goblins battled the broken door open. “Why are you being so
nice?”
“A good deed. Helping a fellow adventurer. Perhaps
there’s a chance for us to get off this island yet,” said the
goblin. “We have been sending messages to our dwarf kin
asking King Beast for amnesty. We’ve been wicked for such a
very long time, you know. It does get tiresome after a while. I
would kill for a cream cake.”
“Currants,” said a goblin.
“Chocolate chip,” said another.
Mal had to admit, she was starting to feel a little exhausted
herself. She knew, because she slept the entire way home,
without even being embarrassed that her head was resting on
Evie’s shoulder.
When Mal returned to the Bargain Castle, she fully expected
her mother to scream invectives at her for failing in her quest.
She opened the door slowly and stepped inside, as quietly as
she could, keeping her eyes on the ground.
It was no use. Maleficent was on her throne. “So, the
prodigal daughter returns,” she said. Her voice sounded
different.
“Mother, I have something to…” Mal stopped, looking up.
And stared.
And then stared some more, in about ten different varieties
of shock.
 Because she found herself staring at the long black staff
with the green globe at its top that her mother was holding.
The Dragon’s Eye.
“Is that—” She couldn’t speak.
Maleficent nodded. “Yes, it is the Dragon’s Eye. And yes,
you did fail me. But thankfully, not all my servants are as
useless as you.”
Mal ignored the word servant. “But how?”
Maleficent laughed. “Silly child, what do you know about
quests?”
“But we found it in the Forbidden Fortress! I just touched
it—an hour ago!” said Mal. “It was in your own throne room.
Suspended on the wall. Where you could see it, from where
your throne used to sit.”
Her mother eyed her. Mal couldn’t be certain, but it was
possible, for the briefest of all split-seconds, that her mother
was the slightest bit impressed.
“I touched it, and that thing knocked me unconscious.”
“You touched it? You don’t say,” said Maleficent. “Well,
good job, you. You really are as soft as your father.”
Mal bristled. “I don’t understand.”
“You touched the Dragon’s Eye? Instead of tricking one of
the others into doing it? Such weakness. I didn’t want to
believe the news when I heard it.” Maleficent banged her staff
upon the floor next to her feet. “How many times, Mal? How
much more will you shame me?”
She rolled her eyes. “I sent Diablo out after you to retrieve
the Eye for me. He must have taken it from you while you
were sleeping off the curse.” She shook her head. “I knew you
wouldn’t have it in you to do what needed to be done, and I
knew I couldn’t take any chances. It appears I was right.
Again.”
Diablo cawed proudly.
 So she’d been right about feeling as if they were being
followed. Of course. That was Diablo.
Mal felt like giving up. It never mattered, how hard she
tried, or what she did, she would never impress her mother.
Even now, her mother had eyes only for the Dragon’s Eye.
“The only thing is, it’s broken,” said Maleficent with a
frown. “Look at the eye, it’s dead.” For a moment, she
sounded like the same angry little girl who had cursed a baby
over a party invitation. Mal remembered all too well, and she
looked at her mother through new eyes.
“Well, the dome is still up,” said Mal, finally. “It keeps the
magic out.” It was down for a brief moment, but there would
be no magic on the island anytime soon.
“Maybe. Or maybe you broke the eye when you touched
it,” Maleficent accused. “You are such a disappointment.”
Meanwhile, at Jafar’s Junk Shop, an angry Jafar was berating
Jay, who had returned home empty-handed. “So you’re saying
you did find the Dragon’s Eye, did you? So where is it, then?”
“It disappeared!” Jay protested. “One minute we had it,
and then we lost it.”
“Right. And this had nothing to do with a certain noble
deed performed by a certain daughter of evil for a certain other
daughter of evil?”
Jay froze. “Excuse me?”
The words good and deed were chilling, particularly on the
Isle, and particularly when coming out of his father’s mouth.
“Did you think goblins keep secrets particularly well, boy?
The news is all over the island.”
“I swear. That’s what really happened. I swear on a stack
of stolen…” Jay blanked. He couldn’t think of a single thing to
steal at the moment.
But to be honest, for once in his life, he didn’t even care.
“You are such a disappointment,” Jafar snorted.
Over at Hell Hall, Carlos was getting an earful after Cruella
finally discovered her furs in disarray in her closet. “Who has
been in here? It looks like a wild animal was trapped with my
furs! What imbecile would do such a thing?”
“A wild one?” Carlos winced. He knew it was pointless to
even try. Not when the closet looked like this.
His answer was a scream, and it was bloodcurdling. Even
in his mother’s signature, shrill octave.
“I’m sorry Mother,” whimpered Carlos. “It won’t happen
again! I know how much you love your furs.” The words were
almost a whisper. He could see the faces of the gargoyles from
the bridge, mocking him as he said them.
Then he could see Mal, Evie, and Jay laughing at her with
him, and he had to keep from secretly smiling, himself.
Cruella sniffed. “You are such a disappointment!”
Over at the Castle-Across-the-Way, the Evil Queen was
lamenting the state of Evie’s hair. “It’s like a rat’s nest! What
happened? You look awful.”
“I’m sorry Mother, we ran into…well…uh…let’s just say I
couldn’t find a mirror.”
I found one, she thought. Just not the kind you want to look
at.
Not when you’re supposed to be the fairest of them all.
“Just promise me these rumors I’m hearing aren’t true,”
her mother said. “All this talk of a virtuous act.” She
shuddered. “The goblins are saying such horrid things about
the four of you.”
“You know that goblins are horrible creatures, Mom.” Evie
hid her face. She didn’t know what to say. To be honest, she
didn’t even know what she thought. It had been a strange few
days.
Not entirely bad, but strange.
The Evil Queen sighed. “You forgot to reapply blush
again. Oh dear, sometimes, you’re such a disappointment.”
Mal sat out on the balcony, hearing the sounds of laughter and
mayhem from down below. Then, a shout.
“Mal!” Jay called. “Come down!”
She ran downstairs. “What’s up?”
“Oh nothing, just trying to get away from our parents and
disappointing them again,” said Carlos.
“You too, huh?” asked Mal. She turned to Jay and Evie.
“And you?”
The three of them nodded.
“Come on, let’s go to the market,” said Evie. “I need a new
scarf.”
“I can get you one,” said Jay, waggling his eyebrows. “Oh,
and Evie—here you go,” he said. “I believe this might be
yours.”
“My necklace!” said Evie, putting the poison-heart charm
around her neck once more, with a smile. “Thanks, Jay.”
“I found it.”
“In his pocket,” said Mal, but even she was grinning.
With a whoop, the four descendants of the world’s greatest
villains ran through the crowded streets of the Isle of the Lost,
causing havoc, stealing and plundering together while the
citizens of the island ran the other way. They were truly rotten
to the core.
Even Mal started to feel better.
And in fact, as they laughed and sang, Mal wondered if
this was what happiness was like.
Because even though the four of them weren’t quite
friends yet, they were the closest things they had to it.
 “You will join
me for dinner.…
That’s not a
request!”
—Beast, Beauty
and the Beast
While the band of four villain kids was causing havoc in the
streets of the Isle of the Lost, Prince Ben was looking out the
window from his high vantage point in Beast Castle, lost in a
few thoughts of his own.
It was true that Grumpy the Dwarf had told him he’d make
a good king, but privately, Ben wondered if he was right.
More to the point, he wondered if becoming a good king
was even something he cared about at all.
Did it matter? What he cared about? What he wanted?
Trapped, Ben thought, staring out over the vast expanse of
the kingdom. That’s what I am.
He looked up at the sky, as if it held the answers. The blue
wash was bright and clear as usual, and he could see all the
way to the distant horizon, where Auradon itself dissolved into
nothing but misty shoreline and azure water.
No.
Not nothing.
Ben thought of his dream of the island.
The Isle of the Lost. That’s what everyone called it, even
his father.
 He considered again what it would be like to live as they
did, trapped underneath the magical dome, just as he was in
his royal life.
They were prisoners, weren’t they? His father tried to
pretend that they were not, but even Ben knew otherwise.
They were exiled to the island by order of the king.
Just as Ben was able to live in the castle because he was
the king’s son. And because my father loves me, Ben thought.
And because I was born to this.
It was impossible to stop thinking about it.
He flinched.
“Ouch,” Ben said, as a needle poked him again in the
armpit.
“Sorry, sire; forgive me sire.” Lumiere, who was
measuring him for his coronation suit, quailed.
“Quite all right,” said Ben, who looked kingly, at least
according to Lumiere, in the royal blue velvet suit with yellow
piping. It had belonged to King Beast, who had worn it at his
own coronation. “It was my fault—I moved.”
“Your mind is elsewhere, sire,” said Lumiere sagely. “As
befitting a future king of Auradon.”
“Perhaps,” said Ben.
For a future king, he was surprised by how little he knew
about the Isle of the Lost. How did the villains fare, beneath
the dome? How did they live, eat, take care of themselves?
How were their families? What were their hopes and dreams?
What did they see when they stared out the windows of their
own castle or cottage or cave?
Ben remembered he had heard that a few of them had
children. Some would have to be his own age by now,
wouldn’t they? He wondered how they dealt with living in the
shadow of their infamous parents.
I imagine that for them, it’s a lot like this, he thought,
staring down at his royal beast-head ring, the one just like his
father’s. Wearing his father’s suit, fitted by his father’s tailor.
Standing at the window of his father’s castle.
We’re all trapped. I’m as trapped as they are.
The more Ben thought about it, the more he knew it was
true. He hadn’t chosen to be born a prince and become a king,
just as they hadn’t chosen who their parents were. They were
prisoners for a crime they themselves had not committed.
That was the greater crime, wasn’t it?
It’s not fair. It’s not our fault. We have no say in our own
lives. We’re living in a fairy tale someone else wrote.
In that moment, Ben suddenly understood why it was that
the sidekicks wanted more for their lives: because he found he
wanted even more than that.
He wanted things to change, throughout Auradon.
Everything, he thought. For everyone.
Was that even possible? On the other hand, how could it
not be? How could he possibly keep going with the way things
were now?
Ben thought about it.
If he was going to be king, he would have to be himself,
his mother had said. And he was different from his father. That
was clear to everyone, even Lumiere. Ben would rule, but he
would rule differently.
He would make different rules and proclamations.
His mind wandered again to the image of the purple-haired
girl with the bright green eyes. The girl from his dream.
Who was she?
Would he ever meet her?
Was she one of them? One of the lost souls on that cursed
island? He had a feeling that she was.
And just then, he had a flash of inspiration.
One that would change the fates of both Auradon and the
Isle of the Lost forever.
 Why not?
It’s about time.
His mind was made up.
“Sire! Where are you going?” cried Lumiere as Ben
suddenly leapt away from the needle and thread, a flurry of
straight pins and bespoke chalk and measuring tape flying into
the air around him.
“To find my parents! I have something to tell them, and it
can’t wait!” said Ben. “I’ve got the most brilliant idea!”
When I was a little girl growing up in the Philippines, the
first movie I ever saw was Cinderella, which had been my
mother’s favorite movie as a child. It was the first movie I ever
watched with my daughter, and it also became her favorite
movie. (My favorite is Sleeping Beauty.) Disney magic was a
huge part of my childhood, and now it is a huge part of my
daughter’s. It was wonderful to watch the old movies again
with her while I was writing this book, as well as share the
new Disney Channel movie that inspired it. I still can’t believe
that I got to play in this universe and with these characters
who defined my childhood. It’s been a magical journey, and I
owe my thanks to the people who helped me on my way. My
publishing family—my editor, Emily Meehan, my publisher,
Suzanne Murphy, and everyone at Disney Hyperion, especially
Seale Ballenger, Mary Ann Zissimos, Simon Tasker, Elena
Blanco, Kim Knueppel, Sarah Sullivan, Jackie DeLeo, Frank
Bumbalo, Jessica Harriton, Dina Sherman, Elke Villa, Andrew
Sansone, and Holly Nagel, who have seen me through
countless books and launches, thanks for keeping the faith!
Marci Senders, who put together a wickedly awesome design,
and Monica Mayper, who made sure every villainous dangling
participle fell into place. Disney Consumer Products grand
poobahs Andrew Sugerman and Raj Murari throw the best
parties. Jeanne Mosure is my hero. Big thanks to Rebecca
Frazer and Jennifer Magee-Cook from Team Descendants, and
all the lovely folks at the Disney Channel, especially Jennifer
Rogers Doyle, Leigh Tran, Naketha Mattocks, and Gary
Marsh. It was a thrill to meet director Kenny Ortega,
production designer Mark Hofeling and the stars of the movie,
Dove Cameron, Booboo Stewart, Cameron Boyce, Sofia
Carson, and the inimitable Kristin Chenoweth. Screenwriters
Sara Parriott and Josann McGibbon’s script was hilarious and
inspiring. My agent, Richard Abate, is the man. Melissa Kahn
is awesome. Thanks and love to the DLC and Johnston
families, especially my nephews Nicholas and Joseph Green
and Sebastian de la Cruz. I get by with a little help from my
friends, especially dear Margie Stohl. My husband, Mike
Johnston, is a creative genius, and he and our daughter, Mattie
Johnston, make everything worthwhile.
I hope you enjoyed the book and that it created a whole
new set of Disney memories. You won’t want to miss the
movie. Thank you for reading!
xoxo
Mel
MELISSA DE LA CRUZ (www.melissa-
delacruz.com) is the author of many novels, including The
Ring and the Crown, The Witches of East End series, and all
of the best-selling books in the Blue Bloods series: Blue
Bloods, Masquerade, Revelations, The Van Alen Legacy, Keys
to the Repository, Misguided Angel, Bloody Valentine, Lost in
Time, and Gates of Paradise. She lives in Los Angeles with
her husband and daughter.